Bullsllcad 
BookSkop 

CHAPtlHIU.N.C. 


The  Golden  Age 


BY   KENNETH    GRAHAME 


Dream  Days,   $1.25 
Pagan  Papers,   $1.25 
The  Headswowan,   $0.35 

Edited,  and  luith  Introductions 
By  Kenneth    Grahame 

A  Hundred  Fables  of  vEsop. 
With  100  full-page  illustrations. 
By  P.  J.  Billinghurst,  $1.50 

Lullaby     Land.  By     Eugene 

Field.       With    250    illustrations. 
By  Charles  Robinson,  $1.50 


The  Golden  Age 

By 

Kenneth  Grahame 


JOHN    LANE:    THE    BODLEY   HEAD 

NEW    YORK    AND    LONDON 

1902 


Copyright 
By  Stone  &  Kimball 

mdcccxcv 

Copyright 

By  John  Lane 

mdcccxcvii 


TWENTIETH    EDITION 


"'tis  opportune  to  look  back  upon  old 
times,  and  contemplate  our  forefathers, 
great  examples  grow  thin,  and  to  be 
fetched  from  the  passed  world.  sim- 
plicity flies  away,  and  iniquity  comes  at 
long  strides  upon  us." 

sir  thomas  browne. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://www.archive.org/details/goldenageOgrahame 


Contents 

Prologue  —  The  Olympians  Page  i 

A  Holiday  9 

A  White-washed  Uncle  25 

Alarums  and  Excursions  35 

The  Finding  of  the  Princess  49 

Sawdust  and  Six  63 

"Young  Adam  Cupid"  75 

The  Burglars  87 

A   Harvesting  101 

Snowbound  i  i  5 

What  they  Talked  About  125 

The  Argonauts  135 

The  Roman  Road  153 

The  Secret  Drawer  169 

"  Exit  Tyraxxus  "  183 

The  Blue  Room  195 

A   Fallixc  Out  213 

*'  LUSISTI    SATIS  "  227 


Vll 


Prologue  :   The  Olympians 


PROLOGUE:    THE    OLYMPIANS 

LOOKING  back  to  those  days  of  old,  ere  the 
J  gate  shut  to  behind  me,  I  can  see  now  that 
to  children  with  a  proper  equipment  of  parents 
these  things  would  have  worn  a  different  aspect. 
But  to  those  whose  nearest  were  aunts  and  uncles, 
a  special  attitude  of  mind  may  be  allowed.  They 
treated  us,  indeed,  with  kindness  enough  as  to  the 
needs  of  the  flesh,  but  after  that  with  indifference 
(an  indifference,  as  I  recognise,  the  result  of  a 
certain  stupidity),  and  therewith  the  common- 
place conviction  that  your  child  is  merely  animal. 
At  a  very  early  age  I  remember  realising  in  a 
quite  impersonal  and  kindly  way  the  existence  of 
that  stupidity,  and  its  tremendous  influence  in  the 
world  ;  while  there  grew  up  in  me,  as  in  the 
parallel  case  of  Caliban  upon  Setebos,  a  vague  sense 
of  a  ruling  power,  wilful  and  freakish,  and  prone 
to  the  practice  of  vagaries  —  "just  choosing  so": 
as,  for  instance,  the  giving  of  authority  over  us 
3 


The  Golden  Age 

to  these  hopeless  and  incapable  creatures,  when  it 
might  far  more  reasonably  have  been  given  to 
ourselves  over  them.  These  elders,  our  betters 
by  a  trick  of  chance,  commanded  no  respect,  but 
only  a  certain  blend  of  envy  —  of  their  good  luck 
—  and  pity  — for  their  inability  to  make  use  of  it. 
Indeed,  it  was  one  of  the  most  hopeless  features 
in  their  character  (when  we  troubled  ourselves  to 
waste  a  thought  on  them  :  which  wasn't  often) 
that,  having  absolute  licence  to  indulge  in  the 
pleasures  of  life,  they  could  get  no  good  of  it. 
They  might  dabble  in  the  pond  all  day,  hunt  the 
chickens,  climb  trees  in  the  most  uncompromising 
Sunday  clothes ;  they  were  free  to  issue  forth  and 
buy  gunpowder  in  the  full  eye  of  the  sun  —  free 
to  fire  cannons  and  explode  mines  on  the  lawn  : 
yet  they  never  did  any  one  of  these  things.  No 
irresistible  Energy  haled  them  to  church  o'  Sun- 
days ;  yet  they  went  there  regularly  of  their  own 
accord,  though  they  betraved  no  greater  delight 
in  the  experience  than  ourselves. 

On  the  whole,  the  existence  of  these  Olym- 
pians seemed  to  be  entirely  void  of  interests,  even 
as  their  movements  were  confined  and  slow,  and 
their  habits  stereotyped  and  senseless.      To  any- 
4 


The  Olympians 

thing  but  appearances  they  were  blind.  For  them 
the  orchard  (a  place  elf-haunted,  wonderful !) 
simplv  produced  so  many  apples  and  cherries : 
or  it  did  n't,  when  the  failures  of  Nature  were 
not  infrequently  ascribed  to  us.  They  never  set 
foot  within  fir-wood  or  hazel-copse,  nor  dreamt 
of  the  marvels  hid  therein.  The  mysterious 
sources  —  sources  as  of  old  Nile  —  that  fed  the 
duck-pond  had  no  magic  for  them.  They  were 
unaware  of  Indians,  nor  recked  they  anything  of 
bisons  or  of  pirates  (with  pistols!),  though  the 
whole  place  swarmed  with  such  portents.  They 
cared  not  about  exploring  for  robbers'  caves,  nor 
digging  for  hidden  treasure.  Perhaps,  indeed,  it 
was  one  of  their  best  qualities  that  they  spent  the 
greater  part  of  their  time  stuffily  indoors. 

To  be  sure,  there  was  an  exception  in  the 
curate,  who  would  receive  unblenching  the  in- 
formation that  the  meadow  beyond  the  orchard 
was  a  prairie  studded  with  herds  of  buffalo,  which 
it  was  our  delight,  moccasined  and  tomahawked, 
to  ride  down  with  those  whoops  that  announce 
the  scenting  of  blood.  He  neither  laughed  nor 
sneered,  as  the  Olympians  would  have  done  ; 
\it  possessed  of  a  serious  idiosyncrasy,  he  would 
5 


The  Golden  Age 

contribute  such  lots  of  valuable  suggestion  as  to 
the  pursuit  of  this  particular  sort  of  big  game  that, 
as  it  seemed  to  us,  his  mature  age  and  eminent 
position  could  scarce  have  been  attained  without 
a  practical  knowledge  of  the  creature  in  its  native 
lair.  Then,  too,  he  was  always  ready  to  consti- 
tute himself  a  hostile  army  or  a  band  of  maraud- 
ing Indians  on  the  shortest  possible  notice  :  in 
brief,  a  distinctly  able  man,  with  talents,  so  far 
as  we  could  judge,  immensely  above  the  majority. 
I  trust  he  is  a  bishop  by  this  time,  —  he  had  all 
the  necessary  qualifications,  as  we  knew. 

These  strange  folk  had  visitors  sometimes,  — 
stiff  and  colourless  Olympians  like  themselves, 
equally  without  vital  interests  and  intelligent  pur- 
suits :  emerging  out  of  the  clouds,  and  passing 
away  again  to  drag  on  an  aimless  existence  some- 
where out  of  our  ken.  Then  brute  force  was 
pitilessly  applied.  We  were  captured,  washed, 
and  forced  into  clean  collars :  silently  submitting, 
as  was  our  wont,  with  more  contempt  than  anger. 
Anon,  with  unctuous  hair  and  faces  stiffened  in  a 
conventional  grin,  we  sat  and  listened  to  the  usual 
platitudes.  How  could  reasonable  people  spend 
their  precious  time  so  ?  That  was  ever  our  wonder 
6 


The  Olympians 

as  we  bounded  forth  at  last  —  to  the  old  clay-pit  to 
make  pots,  or  to  hunt  bears  among  the  hazels. 

It  was  incessant  matter  for  amazement  how 
these  Olympians  would  talk  over  our  heads  — 
during  meals,  for  instance  —  of  this  or  the  other 
social  or  political  inanity,  under  the  delusion  that 
these  pale  phantasms  of  reality  were  among  the 
importances  of  life.  We  illuminati,  eating  si- 
lently, our  heads  full  of  plans  and  conspiracies, 
could  have  told  them  what  real  life  was.  We 
had  just  left  it  outside,  and  were  all  on  fire  to  get 
back  to  it.  Of  course  we  did  n't  waste  the  revela- 
tion on  them  ;  the  futility  of  imparting  our  ideas 
had  long  been  demonstrated.  One  in  thought 
and  purpose,  linked  by  the  necessity  of  combating 
one  hostile  fate,  a  power  antagonistic  ever, — a 
power  we  lived  to  evade,  —  we  had  no  confidants 
save  ourselves.  This  strange  anaemic  order  of 
beings  was  further  removed  from  us,  in  fact,  than 
the  kindly  beasts  who  shared  our  natural  existence 
in  the  sun.  The  estrangement  was  fortified  by 
an  abiding  sense  of  injustice,  arising  from  the  re- 
fusal of  the  Olympians  ever  to  defend,  retract,  or 
admit  themselves  in  the  wrong,  or  to  accept  sim- 
ilar concessions  on  our  part.  For  instance,  when 
7 


The  Golden  Age 

I  flung  the  cat  out  of  an  upper  window  (though 
I  did  it  from  no  ill-feeling,  and  it  did  n't  hurt 
the  cat),  I  was  ready,  after  a  moment's  reflection, 
to  own  I  was  wrong,  as  a  gentleman  should.  But 
was  the  matter  allowed  to  end  there  ?  I  trow 
not.  Again,  when  Harold  was  locked  up  in  his 
room  all  day,  for  assault  and  battery  upon  a  neigh- 
bour's pig, — an  action  he  would  have  scorned, 
being  indeed  on  the  friendliest  terms  with  the 
porker  in  question,  —  there  was  no  handsome  ex- 
pression of  regret  on  the  discovery  of  the  real  cul- 
prit. What  Harold  had  felt  was  not  so  much  the 
imprisonment,  —  indeed  he  had  very  soon  escaped 
by  the  window,  with  assistance  from  his  allies,  and 
had  only  gone  back  in  time  for  his  release, — as 
the  Olympian  habit.  A  word  would  have  set  all 
right ;  but  of  course  that  word  was  never  spoken. 

Well !  The  Olympians  are  all  past  and  gone. 
Somehow  the  sun  does  not  seem  to  shine  so 
brightly  as  it  used  ;  the  trackless  meadows  of  old 
time  have  shrunk  and  dwindled  away  to  a  few 
poor  acres.  A  saddening  doubt,  a  dull  s  ispicion, 
creeps  over  me.  Et  in  Arcadia  ego,  — I  certainly 
did  once  inhabit  Arcady.  Can  it  be  I  too  have 
become  an  Olympian  ? 

8 


A  Holiday 


A    HOLIDAY. 

THE  masterful  wind  was  up  and  out,  shout- 
ing and  chasing,  the  lord  of  the  morning. 
Poplars  swayed  and  tossed  with  a  roaring  swish; 
dead  leaves  sprang  aloft,  and  whirled  into  space ; 
and  all  the  clear-swept  heaven  seemed  to  thrill 
with  sound  like  a  great  harp.  It  was  one  of  the 
first  awakenings  of  the  year.  The  earth  stretched 
herself,  smiling  in  her  sleep  ;  and  everything  leapt 
and  pulsed  to  the  stir  of  the  giant's  movement. 
With  us  it  was  a  whole  holiday  ;  the  occasion 
a  birthday  —  it  matters  not  whose.  Some  one 
of  us  had  had  presents,  and  pretty  conventional 
speeches,  and  had  glowed  with  that  sense  of  hero- 
ism which  is  no  less  sweet  that  nothing  has  been 
done  to  deserve  it.  But  the  holiday  was  for  all, 
the  rapture  of  awakening  Nature  for  all,  the  vari- 
ous outdoor  joys  of  puddles  and  sun  and  hedge- 
breaking  for  all.  Colt-like  I  ran  through  the 
I  I 


The  Golden  Age 

meadows,  frisking  happy  heels  in  the  face  o\ 
Nature  laughing  responsive.  Above,  the  sky  was 
bluest  of  the  blue ;  wide  pools  left  by  the 
winter's  floods  flashed  the  colour  back,  true  and 
brilliant ;  and  the  soft  air  thrilled  with  the  ger- 
minating touch  that  seemed  to  kindle  something  in 
my  own  small  person  as  well  as  in  the  rash  prim- 
rose already  lurking  in  sheltered  haunts.  Out 
into  the  brimming  sun-bathed  world  I  sped,  free 
of  lessons,  free  of  discipline  and  correction,  for 
one  day  at  least.  My  legs  ran  of  themselves,  and 
though  I  heard  my  name  called  faint  and  shrill 
behind,  there  was  no  stopping  for  me.  It  was 
only  Harold,  I  concluded,  and  his  legs,  though 
shorter  than  mine,  were  good  for  a  longer  spurt 
than  this.  Then  I  heard  it  called  again,  but 
this  time  more  faintly,  with  a  pathetic  break  in 
the  middle ;  and  I  pulled  up  short,  recognising 
Charlotte's  plaintive  note. 

She  panted  up  anon,  and  dropped  on  the  turf 
beside  me.  Neither  had  any  desire  for  talk ;  the 
glow  and  the  glory  of  existing  on  this  perfect 
morning  were  satisfaction  full  and  sufficient. 

"  Where  's  Harold  ?  "  I  asked  presently. 

"  Oh,  he's  just  play  in'  muffin-man,  as  usual," 

12 


A   Holiday 

said  Charlotte  with  petulance.  "  Fancy  wanting 
to  be  a  muffin-man  on  a  whole  holiday  !  " 

It  was  a  strange  craze,  certainly  ;  but  Harold, 
who  invented  his  own  games  and  played  them 
without  assistance,  always  stuck  staunchly  to  a 
new  fad,  till  he  had  worn  it  quite  out.  Just  at 
present  he  was  a  muffin-man,  and  day  and  night 
he  went  through  passages  and  up  and  down  stair- 
cases, ringing  a  noiseless  bell  and  offering  phan- 
tom muffins  to  invisible  wayfarers.  It  sounds  a 
poor  sort  of  sport ;  and  yet  —  to  pass  along  busy 
streets  of  your  own  building,  for  ever  ringing  an 
imaginary  bell  and  offering  airy  muffins  of  your 
own  make  to  a  bustling  thronging  crowd  of  your 
own  creation  —  there  were  points  about  the  game, 
it  cannot  be  denied,  though  it  seemed  scarce  in 
harmony  with  this  radiant  wind-swept  morning  ! 

"  And  Edward,  where  is  he  ?  "  I  questioned 
again. 

"  He  's  coming  along  by  the  road,"  said  Char- 
lotte. "  He  '11  be  crouching  in  the  ditch  when 
we  get  there,  and  he  's  going  to  be  a  grizzly  bear 
and  spring  out  on  us,  only  you  must  n't  say  I 
told  you,  'cos  it 's  to  be  a  surprise." 

"All  right,"  I  said  magnanimously.  "Come 
>3 


The  Golden  Age 

on  and  let's  be  surprised."  But  I  could  not 
help  feeling  that  on  this  day  of  days  even  a 
grizzly  felt  misplaced  and  common. 

Sure  enough  an  undeniable  bear  sprang  out  on 
us  as  we  dropped  into  the  road ;  then  ensued 
shrieks,  growlings,  revolver-shots,  and  unrecorded 
heroisms,  till  Edward  condescended  at  last  to  roll 
over  and  die,  bulking  large  and  grim,  an  unmiti- 
gated grizzly.  It  was  an  understood  thing,  that 
whoever  took  upon  himself  to  be  a  bear  must 
eventually  die,  sooner  or  later,  even  if  he  were 
the  eldest  born  ;  else,  life  would  have  been  all 
strife  and  carnage,  and  the  Age  of  Acorns  have 
displaced  our  hard-won  civilisation.  This  little 
affair  concluded  with  satisfaction  to  all  parties  con- 
cerned, we  rambled  along  the  road,  picking  up 
the  defaulting  Harold  by  the  way,  muffinless  now 
and  in  his  right  and  social  mind. 

ft  What  would  you  do  ?  "  asked  Charlotte  pres- 
ently, —  the  book  of  the  moment  always  domi- 
nating her  thoughts  until  it  was  sucked  dry  and 
cast  aside,  —  "  what  would  you  do  if  you  saw 
two  lions  in  the  road,  one  on  each  side,  and  you 
did  n't  know  if  they  was  loose  or  if  they  was 
chained  up  ?  " 

14 


A  Holiday 

"  Do  ?"  shouted  Edward,  valiantly,  "I  should 

—  I  should  —  I  should  —  "  His  boastful  ac- 
cents died  away  into  a  mumble  :  "  Dunno  what 
I  should  do." 

"  Should  n't  do  anything,"  I  observed  after 
consideration ;  and  really  it  would  be  difficult  to 
arrive  at  a  wiser  conclusion. 

"If  it  came  to  doing"  remarked  Harold,  re- 
flectively, "the  lions  would  do  all  the  doing 
there  was  to  do,  would  n't  they  ?  " 

"  But  if  they  was  good  lions,"  rejoined  Char- 
lotte, "they  would  do  as  they  would  be  done  by." 

"  Ah,  but  how  are  you  to  know  a  good  lion 
from  a  bad  one  ?  "  said  Edward.  "  The  books 
don't  tell  you  at  all,  and  the  lions  ain't  marked 
any  different." 

"  Why,  there  are  n't  any  good  lions,"  said 
Harold,  hastily. 

"Oh  yes,  there  are,  heaps  and  heaps,"  con- 
tradicted Edward.  "  Nearly  all  the  lions  in 
the  story-books  are  good  lions.  There  was  An- 
drocles'  lion,  and  St.  Jerome's  lion,  and — and 

—  the  Lion  and  the  Unicorn  —  " 

"  He  beat  the  Unicorn,"  observed  Harold, 
dubiously,  "all  round  the  town." 


The  Golden  Age 

"That  proves  he  was  a  good  lion,"  cried 
Edward,  triumphantly.  "  But  the  question  is, 
how  are  you  to  tell  'em  when  you  see  'em  ? " 

"  /  should  ask  Martha,"  said  Harold  of  the 
simple  creed. 

Edward  snorted  contemptuously,  then  turned 
to  Charlotte.  "Look  here,"  he  said;  "let's 
play  at  lions,  anyhow,  and  I  '11  run  on  to  that 
corner  and  be  a  lion,  — I  '11  be  two  lions,  one  on 
each  side  of  the  road,  —  and  you  '11  come  along, 
and  you  won't  know  whether  I  'm  chained  up 
or  not,  and  that  '11  be  the  fun !  " 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Charlotte,  firmly ; 
"  you  '11  be  chained  up  till  I  'm  quite  close  to 
you,  and  then  you  '11  be  loose,  and  you  '11  tear 
me  in  pieces,  and  make  my  frock  all  dirty,  and 
p'raps  you  '11  hurt  me  as  well.  /  know  your 
lions !  " 

"No,  I  won't;  I  swear  I  won't,"  protested 
Edward.  "  I  '11  be  quite  a  new  lion  this  time, 
—  something  you  can't  even  imagine."  And  he 
raced  off  to  his  post.  Charlotte  hesitated  ;  then 
she  went  timidly  on,  at  each  step  growing  less 
Charlotte,  the  mummer  of  a  minute,  and  more 
the  anxious  Pilgrim  of  all  time.  The  lion's  wrath 
1 6 


A  Holiday 

tvaxed  terrible  at  her  approach  ;  his  roaring  filled 
the  startled  air.  I  waited  until  they  were  both 
thoroughly  absorbed,  and  then  I  slipped  through 
the  hedge  out  of  the  trodden  highway,  into  the 
vacant  meadow  spaces.  It  was  not  that  I  was 
unsociable,  nor  that  I  knew  Edward's  lions  to  the 
point  of  satiety  ;  but  the  passion  and  the  call  of  the 
divine  morning  were  high  in  my  blood.  Earth  to 
earth  !  That  was  the  frank  note,  the  joyous  sum- 
mons of  the  day  ;  and  they  could  not  but  jar  and 
seem  artificial,  these  human  discussions  and  pre- 
tences, when  boon  Nature,  reticent  no  more,  was 
singing  that  full-throated  song  of  hers  that  thrills 
and  claims  control  of  every  fibre.  The  air  was 
wine ;  the  moist  earth-smell,  wine  ;  the  lark's 
song,  the  wafts  from  the  cow-shed  at  top  of  the 
field,  the  pant  and  smoke  of  a  distant  train,  — all 
were  wine,  —  or  song,  was  it?  or  odour,  this 
unity  they  all  blended  into?  I  had  no  words 
then  to  describe  it,  that  earth-effluence  of  which 
I  was  so  conscious  ;  nor,  indeed,  have  I  found 
words  since.  I  ran  sideways,  shouting ;  I  dug 
glad  heels  into  the  squelching  soil ;  I  splashed 
diamond  showers  from  puddles  with  a  stick  ;  I 
hurled  clods  skywards  at  random,  and  presently 
17 


The  Golden  Age 

I  somehow  found  myself  singing.  The  words 
were  mere  nonsense,  —  irresponsible  babble ;  the 
tune  was  an  improvisation,  a  weary,  unrhythmic 
thing  of  rise  and  fall :  and  yet  it  seemed  to  me 
a  genuine  utterance,  and  just  at  that  moment  the 
one  thing  fitting  and  right  and  perfect.  Human- 
ity would  have  rejected  it  with  scorn.  Nature, 
everywhere  singing  in  the  same  key,  recognised 
and  accepted  it  without  a  flicker  of  dissent. 

All  the  time  the  hearty  wind  was  calling  to  me 
companionably  from  where  he  swung  and  bel- 
lowed in  the  tree-tops.  "  Take  me  for  guide 
to-day,"  he  seemed  to  plead.  "Other  holidays 
you  have  tramped  it  in  the  track  of  the  stolid,  un- 
swerving sun  ;  a  belated  truant,  you  have  dragged 
a  weary  foot  homeward  with  only  a  pale,  expres- 
sionless moon  for  company.  To-day  why  not  I, 
the  trickster,  the  hypocrite  ?  I,  who  whip  round 
corners  and  bluster,  relapse  and  evade,  then  rally 
and  pursue !  I  can  lead  you  the  best  and  rarest 
dance  of  any  ;  for  I  am  the  strong  capricious  one, 
the  lord  of  misrule,  and  I  alone  am  irresponsible 
and  unprincipled,  and  obey  no  law."  And  for 
me,  I  was  ready  enough  to  fall  in  with  the  fel- 
low's humour ;  was  not  this  a  whole  holiday  i 
18 


A   Holiday 

So  we  sheered  off  together,  arm-in-arm,  so  to 
speak ;  and  with  fullest  confidence  I  took  the 
jigging,  thwartwise  course  my  chainless  pilot  laid 
for  me. 

A  whimsical  comrade  I  found  him,  ere  he  had 
done  with  me.  Was  it  in  jest,  or  with  some 
serious  purpose  of  his  own,  that  he  brought  me 
plump  upon  a  pair  of  lovers,  silent,  face  to  face 
o'er  a  discreet  unwinking  stile  ?  As  a  rule  this 
sort  of  thing  struck  me  as  the  most  pitiful  tom- 
foolery. Two  calves  rubbing  noses  through  a 
gate  were  natural  and  right  and  within  the  order 
of  things ;  but  that  human  beings,  with  salient 
interests  and  active  pursuits  beckoning  them  on 
from  every  side,  could  thus  — !  Well,  it  was  a 
thing  to  hurry  past,  shamed  of  face,  and  think 
on  no  more.  But  this  morning  everything  I 
met  seemed  to  be  accounted  for  and  set  in  tune 
by  that  same  magical  touch  in  the  air ;  and  it 
was  with  a  certain  surprise  that  I  found  myself 
regarding  these  fatuous  ones  with  kindliness  in- 
stead of  contempt,  as  I  rambled  by,  unheeded  oi 
them.  There  was  indeed  some  reconciling  influ- 
ence abroad,  which  could  bring  the  like  antics  into 
harmony  with  bud  and  growth  and  the  frolic  air. 
19 


The  Golden  Age 

A  puff  on  the  right  cheek  from  my  wilful  com- 
panion sent  me  off  at  a  fresh  angle,  and  presently 
I  came  in  sight  of  the  village  church,  sitting  soli- 
tary within  its  circle  of  elms.  From  forth  the 
vestry  window  projected  two  small  legs,  gyrating, 
hungry  for  foothold,  with  larceny  —  not  to  say 
sacrilege  —  in  their  every  wriggle  :  a  godless  sight 
for  a  supporter  of  the  Establishment.  Though 
the  rest  was  hidden,  I  knew  the  legs  well  enough  ; 
they  were  usually  attached  to  the  body  of  Bill 
Saunders,  the  peerless  bad  boy  of  the  village. 
Bill's  coveted  booty,  too,  I  could  easily  guess  at 
that ;  it  came  from  the  Vicar's  store  of  biscuits, 
kept  (as  I  knew)  in  a  cupboard  along  with  his 
official  trappings.  For  a  moment  I  hesitated  ; 
then  I  passed  on  my  way.  I  protest  I  was  not 
on  Bill's  side ;  but  then,  neither  was  I  on  the 
Vicar's,  and  there  was  something  in  this  immoral 
morning  which  seemed  to  say  that  perhaps,  after 
all,  Bill  had  as  much  right  to  the  biscuits  as  the 
Vicar,  and  would  certainly  enjoy  them  better ; 
and  anyhow  it  was  a  disputable  point,  and  no 
business  of  mine.  Nature,  who  had  accepted 
me  for  ally,  cared  little  who  had  the  world's  bis- 
cuits, and  assuredly  was  not  going  to  let  any  friend. 
20 


A   Holiday 

of  hers  waste  his  time  in  playing  policeman  for 
Society. 

He  was  tugging  at  me  anew,  my  insistent  guide  ; 
and  I  felt  sure,  as  I  rambled  off  in  his  wake,  that 
he  had  more  holiday  matter  to  show  me.  And 
so,  indeed,  he  had  ;  and  all  of  it  was  to  the  same 
lawless  tune.  Like  a  black  pirate  flag  on  the 
blue  ocean  of  air,  a  hawk  hung  ominous ;  then, 
plummet-wise,  dropped  to  the  hedgerow,  whence 
there  rose,  thin  and  shrill,  a  piteous  voice  of  squeal- 
ing. By  the  time  I  got  there  a  whisk  of  feathers 
on  the  turf —  like  scattered  playbills  —  was  all 
that  remained  to  tell  of  the  tragedy  just  enacted. 
Yet  Nature  smiled  and  sang  on,  pitiless,  gay,  im- 
partial. To  her,  who  took  no  sides,  there  was 
every  bit  as  much  to  be  said  for  the  hawk  as  for 
the  chaffinch.  Both  were  her  children,  and  she 
would  show  no  preferences. 

Further  on,  a  hedgehog  lav  dead  athwart  the 
path  —  nay,  more  than  dead ;  decadent,  dis- 
tinctly ;  a  sorry  sight  for  one  that  had  known  the 
fellow  in  more  bustling  circumstances.  Nature 
might  at  least  have  paused  to  shed  one  tear  over 
this  rough-jacketed  little  son  of  hers,  for  his  wasted 
aims,  his   cancelled  ambitions,  his  whole  careei 

21 


The  Golden  Age 

of  usefulness  cut  suddenly  short.  But  not  a  bit 
of  it !  Jubilant  as  ever,  her  song  went  bubbling 
on,  and  "  Death-in-Life,"  and  again,  "  Life-in- 
Death,"  were  its  alternate  burdens.  And  look- 
ing round,  and  seeing  the  sheep-nibbled  heels  of 
turnips  that  dotted  the  ground,  their  hearts  eaten 
out  of  them  in  frost-bound  days  now  over  and 
done,  I  seemed  to  discern,  faintly,  a  something 
of  the  stern  meaning  in  her  valorous  chant. 

My  invisible  companion  was  singing  also,  and 
seemed  at  times  to  be  chuckling  softly  to  himself, 
doubtless  at  thought  of  the  strange  new  lessons 
he  was  teaching  me  ;  perhaps,  too,  at  a  special 
bit  of  waggishness  he  had  still  in  store.  For  when 
at  last  he  grew  weary  of  such  insignificant  earth- 
bound  company,  he  deserted  me  at  a  certain  spot 
I  knew  ;  then  dropped,  subsided,  and  slunk  away 
into  nothingness.  I  raised  my  eyes,  and  before 
me,  grim  and  lichened,  stood  the  ancient  whip- 
ping-post of  the  village ;  its  sides  fretted  with 
the  initials  of  a  generation  that  scorned  its  mute 
lesson,  but  still  clipped  by  the  stout  rusty  shackles 
that  had  tethered  the  wrists  of  such  of  that  gen- 
eration's ancestors  as  had  dared  to  mock  at  order 
and  law.  Had  I  been  an  infant  Sterne,  here  was 
22 


A   Holiday 

a  grand  chance  for  sentimental  output !  As  things 
were,  I  could  only  hurry  homewards,  my  moral 
tail  well  between  my  legs,  with  an  uneasy  feeling, 
as  I  glanced  back  over  my  shoulder,  that  there 
was  more  in  this  chance  than  met  the  eye. 

And  outside  our  gate  I  found  Charlotte,  alone 
and  crying.  Edward,  it  seemed,  had  persuaded 
her  to  hide,  in  the  full  expectation  of  being  duly 
found  and  ecstatically  pounced  upon  ;  then  he  had 
caught  sight  of  the  butcher's  cart,  and,  forgetting 
his  obligations,  had  rushed  off  for  a  ride.  Harold, 
it  further  appeared,  greatly  coveting  tadpoles,  and 
top-heavy  with  the  eagerness  of  possession,  had 
fallen  into  the  pond.  This,  in  itself,  was  noth- 
ing ;  but  on  attempting  to  sneak  in  by  the  back- 
door, he  had  rendered  up  his  duckweed-bedabbled 
person  into  the  hands  of  an  aunt,  and  had  been 
promptly  sent  off  to  bed  ;  and  this,  on  a  holiday, 
was  very  much.  The  moral  of  the  whipping- 
post was  working  itself  out ;  and  I  was  not  in 
the  least  surprised  when,  on  reaching  home,  I  was 
seized  upon  and  accused  of  doing  something  I  had 
never  even  thought  of.  And  my  frame  of  mind 
was  such,  that  I  could  only  wish  most  heartily 
that  I  had  done  it. 

23 


A  White-washed  Uncle 


*5 


A    WHITE-WASHED   UNCLE 

IN  our  small  lives  that  day  was  eventful  when 
another  uncle  was  to  come  down  from  town, 
and  submit  his  character  and  qualifications  (albeit 
unconsciously)  to  our  careful  criticism.  Previous 
uncles  had  been  weighed  in  the  balance,  and  — 
alas !  —  found  grievously  wanting.  There  was 
Uncle  Thomas — a  failure  from  the  first.  Not 
that  his  disposition  was  malevolent,  nor  were  his 
habits  such  as  to  unfit  him  for  decent  society  ;  but 
his  rooted  conviction  seemed  to  be  that  the  reason 
of  a  child's  existence  was  to  serve  as  a  butt  for 
senseless  adult  jokes,  — or  what,  from  the  accom- 
panying guffaws  of  laughter,  appeared  to  be  in- 
tended for  jokes.  Now,  we  were  anxious  that 
he  should  have  a  perfectly  fair  trial ;  so  in  the 
tool-house,  between  breakfast  and  lessons,  we  dis- 
cussed and  examined  all  his  witticisms,  one  by 
one,  calmlv,  critically,  dispassionately.  It  was 
no  good  ;  we  could  not  discover  any  salt  in  them. 
27 


The  Golden  Age 

And  as  only  a  genuine  gift  of  humour  could  have 
saved  Uncle  Thomas,  —  for  he  pretended  to 
naught  besides,  —  he  was  reluctantly  writ  down 
a  hopeless  impostor. 

Uncle  George  —  the  youngest  —  was  distinctly 
more  promising.  He  accompanied  us  cheerily 
round  the  establishment,  —  suffered  himself  to  be 
introduced  to  each  of  the  cows,  held  out  the  right 
hand  of  fellowship  to  the  pig,  and  even  hinted 
that  a  pair  of  pink-eyed  Himalayan  rabbits  might 
arrive  —  unexpectedly  —  from  town  some  day. 
We  were  just  considering  whether  in  this  fertile 
soil  an  apparently  accidental  remark  on  the  solid 
qualities  of  guinea-pigs  or  ferrets  might  haply 
blossom  and  bring  forth  fruit,  when  our  governess 
appeared  on  the  scene.  Uncle  George's  manner 
at  once  underwent  a  complete  and  contemptible 
change.  His  interest  in  rational  topics  seemed, 
"  like  a  fountain's  sickening  pulse,"  to  flag  and 
ebb  away  ;  and  though  Miss  Smedley's  ostensible 
purpose  was  to  take  Selina  for  her  usual  walk,  I 
can  vouch  for  it  that  Selina  spent  her  morning 
ratting,  along  with  the  keeper's  boy  and  me ; 
while,  if  Miss  Smedley  walked  with  any  one,  it 
would  appear  to  have  been  with  Uncle  George. 
28 


A  White-washed  Uncle 

But  despicable  as  his  conduct  had  been,  he  un- 
derwent no  hasty  condemnation.  The  defection 
was  discussed  in  all  its  bearings,  but  it  seemed 
sadly  clear  at  last  that  this  uncle  must  possess  some 
innate  badness  of  character  and  fondness  for  low 
company.  We  who  from  daily  experience  knew 
Miss  Smedley  like  a  book  —  were  we  not  only 
too  well  aware  that  she  had  neither  accomplish- 
ments nor  charms,  no  characteristic,  in  fact,  but 
an  inbred  viciousness  of  temper  and  disposition  ? 
True,  she  knew  the  dates  of  the  English  kings  by 
heart ;  but  how  could  that  profit  Uncle  George, 
who,  having  passed  into  the  army,  had  ascended 
bevond  the  need  of  useful  information  ?  Our 
bows  and  arrows,  on  the  other  hand,  had  been 
freely  placed  at  his  disposal  ;  and  a  soldier  should 
not  have  hesitated  in  his  choice  a  moment.  No  : 
Uncle  George  had  fallen  from  grace,  and  was 
unanimously  damned.  And  the  non-arrival  of 
the  Himalayan  rabbits  was  only  another  nail  in 
his  coffin.  Uncles,  therefore,  were  just  then  a 
heavy  and  lifeless  market,  and  there  was  little  in- 
clination to  deal.  Still  it  was  agreed  that  Uncle 
William,  who  had  just  returned  from  India,  should 
have  as  fair  a  trial  as  the  others ;  more  especially 
29 


The  Golden  Age 

as  romantic  possibilities  might  well  be  embodied 
in  one  who  had  held  the  gorgeous  East  in  fee. 

Selina  had  kicked  my  shins — like  the  girl  she 
is !  —  during  a  scuffle  in  the  passage,  and  I  was 
still  rubbing  them  with  one  hand  when  I  found 
that  the  uncle-on-approbation  was  half-heartedly 
shaking  the  other.  A  florid,  elderly  man,  and 
unmistakably  nervous,  he  dropped  our  grimy 
paws  in  succession,  and,  turning  very  red,  with 
an  awkward  simulation  of  heartiness,  "Well, 
h'  are  y'  all  ?"  he  said,  "  Glad  to  see  me,  eh?" 
As  we  could  hardly,  in  justice,  be  expected  to 
have  formed  an  opinion  on  him  at  that  early  stage, 
we  could  but  look  at  each  other  in  silence  ;  which 
scarce  served  to  relieve  the  tension  of  the  situation. 
Indeed,  the  cloud  never  really  lifted  during  his 
stay.  In  talking  it  over  later,  some  one  put  for- 
ward the  suggestion  that  he  must  at  some  time 
or  other  have  committed  a  stupendous  crime  ;  but 
I  could  not  bring  myself  to  believe  that  the  man, 
though  evidently  unhappy,  was  really  guilty  of 
anything;  and  I  caught  him  once  or  twice  look- 
ing at  us  with  evident  kindliness,  though  seeing 
himself  observed,  he  blushed  and  turned  away 
his  head. 

3° 


A  White-washed  Uncle 

When  at  last  the  atmosphere  was  clear  of  this 
depressing  influence,  we  met  despondently  in  the 
potato-cellar  —  all  of  us,  that  is,  but  Harold,  who 
had  been  told  off  to  accompany  his  relative  to  the 
station  ;  and  the  feeling  was  unanimous,  that,  as 
an  uncle,  William  could  not  be  allowed  to  pass. 
Selina  roundly  declared  him  a  beast,  pointing  out 
that  he  had  not  even  got  us  a  half-holiday  ;  and, 
indeed,  there  seemed  little  to  do  but  to  pass  sen- 
tence. We  were  about  to  put  it,  when  Harold 
appeared  on  the  scene ;  his  red  face,  round  eves, 
and  mysterious  demeanour,  hinting  at  awful  por- 
tents. Speechless  he  stood  a  space  :  then,  slowly 
drawing  his  hand  from  the  pocket  of  his  knicker- 
bockers, he  displaved  on  a  dirty  palm  one  — 
two  —  three  —  four  half-crowns !  We  could  but 
gaze  —  tranced,  breathless,  mute  ;  never  had  anv 
of  us  seen,  in  the  aggregate,  so  much  bullion 
before.      Then  Harold  told  his  tale. 

"I  took  the  old  fellow  to  the  station,"  he 
said,  "and  as  we  went  along  I  told  him  all  about 
the  station-master's  familv,  and  how  I  had  seen 
the  porter  kissing  our  housemaid,  and  what  a  nice 
fellow  he  was,  with  no  airs,  or  affectation  about 
him,  and  anything  I  thought  would  be  of  inter- 
31 


The  Golden  Age 


&" 


est;  but  he  didn't  seem  to  pay  much  attention, 
but  walked  along  puffing  his  cigar,  and  once  I 
thought  —  I'm  not  certain,  but  I  thought  —  I 
heard  him  say,  'Well,  thank  God,  that's  over!' 
When  we  got  to  the  station  he  stopped  suddenly, 
and  said, '  Hold  on  a  minute  !  '  Then  he  shoved 
these  into  my  hand  in  a  frightened  sort  of  way, 
and  said,  '  Look  here,  youngster !  These  are  for 
you  and  the  other  kids.  Buy  what  you  like  — 
make  little  beasts  of  yourselves  —  only  don't  tell 
the  old  people,  mind  !  Now  cut  away  home  ! ' 
So  I  cut." 

A  solemn  hush  fell  on  the  assembly,  broken 
first  by  the  small  Charlotte.  "I  did  n't  know," 
she  observed  dreamily,  "  that  there  were  such 
good  men  anywhere  in  the  world.  I  hope  he  '11 
die  to-night,  for  then  he  '11  go  straight  to  heaven !  " 
But  the  repentant  Selina  bewailed  herself  with 
tears  and  sobs,  refusing  to  be  comforted ;  for  that 
in  her  haste  she  had  called  this  white-souled  rela- 
tive a  beast. 

"I  '11  tell  you  what  we  '11  do,"  said  Edward, 

the  master-mind,  rising  —  as  he  always  did  —  to 

the  situation  :    "  We  '11  christen  the  piebald  pig 

after   him  —  the    one    that    has  n't    got   a    name 

32 


A  White-washed  Uncle 

yet.  And  that  '11  show  we  're  sorry  for  our 
mistake !  " 

"I  —  I  christened  that  pig  this  morning," 
Harold  guiltily  confessed ;  "  I  christened  it  after 
the  curate.  I  'm  very  sorry  —  but  he  came  and 
bowled  to  me  last  night,  after  you  others  had 
all  been  sent  to  bed  early  —  and  somehow  I  felt 
I  had  to  do  it !  " 

"Oh,  but  that  doesn't  count,"  said  Edward 
hastily;  "because  we  weren't  all  there.  We'll 
take  that  christening  off,  and  call  it  Uncle  William. 
And  you  can  save  up  the  curate  for  the  next 
litter !  " 

And  the  motion  being  agreed  to  without  a 
division,  the  House  went  into  Committee  of 
Supply. 


33 


Alarums  and  Excursions 


35 


ALARUMS   AND    EXCURSIONS 

"JET'S    pretend,"    suggested   Harold,  "that 
JL/     we  're  Cavaliers   and  Roundheads ;    and 
you  be  a  Roundhead  !  " 

"  O  bother,"  I  replied  drowsily,  "  we  pre- 
tended that  yesterday  ;  and  it  's  not  my  turn  to 
be  a  Roundhead,  anvhow."  The  fact  is,  I  was 
lazv,  and  the  call  to  arms  fell  on  indifferent  ears. 
We  three  younger  ones  were  stretched  at  length 
in  the  orchard.  The  sun  was  hot,  the  season 
merry  June,  and  never  (I  thought)  had  there 
been  such  wealth  and  riot  of  buttercups  through- 
out the  lush  grass.  Green-and-gold  was  the  dom- 
inant key  that  day.  Instead  of  active  "  pretence  " 
with  its  shouts  and  perspiration,  how  much 
better  —  I  held — to  lie  at  ease  and  pretend  to 
one's  self,  in  green  and  golden  fancies,  slipping 
the  husk  and  passing,  a  careless  lounger,  through 
a  sleepy  imaginary  world  all  gold  and  green ! 
But  the  persistent  Harold  was  not  to  be  fobbed 
off. 

37 


The  Golden  Age 

"Well,  then,"  he  began  afresh,  "let 's  pretend 
we  're  Knights  of  the  Round  Table  ;  and  (with 
a  rush)  I '//  be  Lancelot !  " 

"  I  won't  play  unless  I  'm  Lancelot,"  I  said. 
I  did  n't  mean  it  really,  but  the  game  of  Knights 
always  began  with  this  particular  contest. 

"  O  please,''''  implored  Harold.  "  You  know 
when  Edward  's  here  I  never  get  a  chance  of 
being  Lancelot.  I  have  n't  been  Lancelot  for 
weeks !  " 

Then  I  yielded  gracefully.  "All  right,"  I 
said.      "  I  '11  be  Tristram." 

"  O,  but  you  can't,"  cried  Harold  again. 
"  Charlotte  has  always  been  Tristram.  She 
won't  play  unless  she  's  allowed  to  be  Tristram  ! 
Be  somebody  else  this  time." 

Charlotte  said  nothing,  but  breathed  hard, 
looking  straight  before  her.  The  peerless  hunter 
and  harper  was  her  special  hero  of  romance,  and 
rather  than  see  the  part  in  less  appreciative  hands, 
she  would  even  have  returned  sadly  to  the  stuffy 
schoolroom. 

"I  don't  care,"  I  said:  "I'll  be  anything. 
I  '11  be  Sir  Kay.      Come  on  !  " 

Then  once  more  in  this  country's  story  the 
38 


Alarums  and  Excursions 

mail-clad  knights  paced  through  the  greenwood 
shaw,  questing  adventure,  redressing  wrong ; 
and  bandits,  five  to  one,  broke  and  fled  discom- 
fited to  their  caves.  Once  again  were  damsels 
rescued,  dragons  disembowelled,  and  giants,  in 
every  corner  of  the  orchard,  deprived  of  their 
already  superfluous  number  of  heads ;  while 
Palamides  the  Saracen  waited  for  us  by  the  well, 
and  Sir  Breuse  Saunce  Pite  vanished  in  craven 
flight  before  the  skilled  spear  that  was  his  terror 
and  his  bane.  Once  more  the  lists  were  dight 
in  Camelot,  and  all  was  gay  with  shimmer  of 
silk  and  gold  ;  the  earth  shook  with  thunder  of 
horses,  ash-staves  flew  in  splinters ;  and  the  firm- 
ament rang  to  the  clash  of  sword  on  helm.  The 
varying  fortune  of  the  day  swung  doubtful  — 
now  on  this  side,  now  on  that ;  till  at  last  Lance- 
lot, grim  and  great,  thrusting  through  the  press, 
unhorsed  Sir  Tristram  (an  easy  task),  and  be- 
strode her,  threatening  doom  ;  while  the  Cornish 
knight,  forgetting  hard-won  fame  of  old,  cried 
piteously,  "  You  're  hurting  me,  I  tell  you  !  and 
you  're  tearing  mv  frock  !  "  Then  it  happed 
that  Sir  Kav,  hurtling  to  the  rescue,  stopped  short 
in   his   stride,   catching  sight  suddenly,  through 

39 


The  Golden  Age 

apple-boughs,  of  a  gleam  of  scarlet  afar  off";  while 
the  confused  tramp  of  many  horses,  mingled  with 
talk  and  laughter,  was  borne  to  our  ears. 

''What  is  it?"  inquired  Tristram,  sitting  up 
and  shaking  out  her  curls ;  while  Lancelot  for- 
sook the  clanging  lists  and  trotted  nimbly  to  the 
hedge. 

I  stood  spell-bound  for  a  moment  longer,  and 
then,  with  a  cry  of  "  Soldiers !  "  I  was  off  to  the 
hedge,  Charlotte  picking  herself  up  and  scurrying 
after. 

Down  the  road  they  came,  two  and  two,  at  an 
easy  walk;  scarlet  flamed  in  the  eye,  bits  jingled 
and  saddles  squeaked  delightfully;  while  the  men, 
in  a  halo  of  dust,  smoked  their  short  clays  like 
the  heroes  they  were.  In  a  swirl  of  intoxicating 
glory  the  troop  clinked  and  clattered  by,  while  we 
shouted  and  waved,  jumping  up  and  down,  and 
the  big  jolly  horsemen  acknowledged  the  salute 
with  easy  condescension.  The  moment  they 
were  past  we  were  through  the  hedge  and  after 
them.  Soldiers  were  not  the  common  stuff  of 
everyday  life.  There  had  been  nothing  like  this 
since  the  winter  before  last,  when  on  a  certain 
afternoon  —  bare  of  leaf  and  monochrome  in  its 
40 


Alarums  and  Excursions 

hue  of  sodden  fallow  and  frost-nipt  copse  —  sud- 
denly the  hounds  had  burst  through  the  fence  with 
their  mellow  cry,  and  all  the  paddock  was  for  the 
minute  reverberant  of  thudding  hoof  and  dotted 
with  glancing  red.  But  this  was  better,  since  it 
could  only  mean  that  blows  and  bloodshed  were 
in  the  air. 

"  Is  there  going  to  be  a  battle  ? "  panted  Harold, 
hardly  able  to  keep  up  for  excitement. 

"  Of  course  there  is,"  I  replied.  "  We  're 
just  in  time.     Come  on  !  " 

Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  known  better ;  and 
yet —  The  pigs  and  poultry,  with  whom  we 
chiefly  consorted,  could  instruct  us  little  concerning 
the  peace  that  in  these  latter  days  lapped  this  sea- 
girt realm.  In  the  schoolroom  we  were  just  now 
dallying  with  the  Wars  of  the  Roses  ;  and  did  not 
legends  of  the  country-side  inform  us  how  Cav- 
aliers had  once  galloped  up  and  down  these  very 
lanes  from  their  quarters  in  the  village  ?  Here, 
now,  were  soldiers  unmistakable ;  and  if  their  busi- 
ness was  not  fighting,  what  was  it  ?  Sniffing  the 
joy  of  battle,  we  followed  hard  on  their  tracks. 

"  Won't   Edward  be    sorry,"  puffed  Harold, 
'« that  he  's  begun  that  beastly  Latin  ? " 
41 


The  Golden  Age 

It  did,  indeed,  seem  hard.  Edward,  the  most 
martial  spirit  of  us  all,  was  drearily  conjugating 
amo  (of  all  verbs)  between  four  walls;  while 
Selina,  who  ever  thrilled  ecstatic  to  a  red  coat, 
was  struggling  with  the  uncouth  German  tongue. 
"Age,"  I  reflected,  "carries  its  penalties." 

It  was  a  grievous  disappointment  to  us  that 
the  troop  passed  through  the  village  unmolested. 
Every  cottage,  I  pointed  out  to  my  companions, 
ought  to  have  been  loopholed,  and  strongly  held. 
But  no  opposition  was  offered  to  the  soldiers, 
who,  indeed,  conducted  themselves  with  a  reckless- 
ness and  a  want  of  precaution  that  seemed  simply 
criminal. 

At  the  last  cottage  a  transitory  gleam  of  com- 
mon sense  flickered  across  me,  and,  turning  on 
Charlotte,  I  sternly  ordered  her  back.  The  small 
maiden,  docile  but  exceedingly  dolorous,  dragged 
reluctant  feet  homewards,  heavy  at  heart  that  she 
was  to  behold  no  stout  fellows  slain  that  day  ;  but 
Harold  and  I  held  steadily  on,  expecting  every 
instant  to  see  the  environing  hedges  crackle  and 
spit  forth  the  leaden  death. 

"  Will  they  be  Indians  ?  "  inquired  my  brother 
(meaning  the  enemy);  "or  Roundheads,  or 
what?"  42 


Alarums  and  Excursions 

I  reflected.  Harold  always  required  direct, 
straightforward  answers  —  not  faltering  supposi- 
tions. 

"  They  won't  be  Indians,"  I  replied  at  last ; 
"  nor  yet  Roundheads.  There  have  n't  been  any 
Roundheads  seen  about  here  for  a  long  time. 
They  '11  be  Frenchmen." 

Harold's  face  fell.  "All  right,"  he  said; 
"  Frenchmen  '11  do  ;  but  I  did  hope  they  'd  be 
Indians." 

"  If  they  were  going  to  be  Indians,"  I  explained, 
"I  —  I  don't  think  I'd  go  on.  Because  when 
Indians  take  you  prisoner  they  scalp  you  first, 
and  then  burn  you  at  a  stake.  But  Frenchmen 
don't  do  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  ? "  asked  Harold  doubt- 
fully. 

"  Quite,"  I  replied.  "  Frenchmen  only  shut 
you  up  in  a  thing  called  the  Bastille  ;  and  then  you 
get  a  file  sent  in  to  you  in  a  loaf  of  bread,  and  saw 
the  bars  through,  and  slide  down  a  rope,  and  they 
all  fire  at  you  —  but  they  don't  hit  you  —  and  you 
run  down  to  the  seashore  as  hard  as  you  can, 
and  swim  off  to  a  British  frigate,  and  there  you 
are ! " 

43 


The  Golden  Age 

Harold  brightened  up  again.  The  programme 
was  rather  attractive.  "  If  they  try  to  take  us 
prisoner,"  he  said,  "we  —  we  won't  run,  will 
we  ?  " 

Meanwhile,  the  craven  foe  was  a  long  time 
showing  himself;  and  we  were  reaching  strange 
outland  country,  uncivilised,  wherein  lions  might 
be  expected  to  prowl  at  nightfall.  I  had  a  stitch 
in  my  side,  and  both  Harold's  stockings  had  come 
down.  Just  as  I  was  beginning  to  have  gloomy 
doubts  of  the  proverbial  courage  of  Frenchmen, 
the  officer  called  out  something,  the  men  closed  up, 
and,  breaking  into  a  trot,  the  troops  —  already  far 
ahead  —  vanished  out  of  our  sight.  With  a  sink- 
ing at  the  heart,  I  began  to  suspect  we  had  been 
fooled. 

"Are  they  charging?"  cried  Harold,  weary, 
but  rallying  gamely. 

"I  think  not,"  I  replied  doubtfully.  "  When 
there  's  going  to  be  a  charge,  the  officer  always 
makes  a  speech,  and  then  they  draw  their  swords 
and  the  trumpets  blow,  and  —  but  let's  try  a  short 
cut.      We  may  catch  them  up  yet." 

So  we  struck  across  the  fields  and  into  another 
road,  and  pounded  down  that,  and  then  over  more 
44 


Alarums  and  Excursions 

fields,  panting,  down-hearted,  yet  hoping  for  the 
best.  The  sun  went  in,  and  a  thin  drizzle  began 
to  fall ;  we  were  muddy,  breathless,  almost  dead 
beat ;  but  we  blundered  on,  till  at  last  we  struck 
a  road  more  brutally,  more  callously  unfamiliar 
than  any  road  I  ever  looked  upon.  Not  a  hint  nor 
a  sign  of  friendly  direction  or  assistance  on  the 
dogged  white  face  of  it.  There  was  no  longer  any 
disguising  it  —  we  were  hopelessly  lost.  The 
small  rain  continued  steadily,  the  evening  began 
to  come  on.  Really  there  are  moments  when  a 
fellow  is  justified  in  crying  ;  and  I  would  have 
cried  too,  if  Harold  had  not  been  there.  That 
right-minded  child  regarded  an  elder  brother  as  a 
veritable  god ;  and  I  could  see  that  he  felt  him- 
self as  secure  as  if  a  whole  Brigade  of  Guards 
hedged  him  round  with  protecting  bayonets.  But 
I  dreaded  sore  lest  he  should  begin  again  with 
his  questions. 

As  I  gazed  in  dumb  appeal  on  the  face  of  unre- 
sponsive nature,  the  sound  of  nearing  wheels  sent 
a  pulse  of  hope  through  my  being  ;  increasing  to 
rapture  as  I  recognised  in  the  approaching  vehicle 
the  familiar  carriage  of  the  old  doctor.  If  ever  a 
god  emerged  from  a  machine,  it  was  when  this 
45 


The  Golden  Age 

heaven-sent  friend,  recognising  us,  stopped  and 
jumped  out  with  a  cheery  hail.  Harold  rushed 
up  to  him  at  once.  "  Have  you  been  there  ?  " 
he  cried.  "  Was  it  a  jolly  fight  ?  who  beat  ? 
were  there  many  people  killed?" 

The  doctor  appeared  puzzled.  I  briefly 
explained  the  situation. 

"  I  see,"  said  the  doctor,  looking  grave  and  twist- 
ing his  face  this  way  and  that.  "  Well,  the  fact 
is,  there  is  n't  going  to  be  any  battle  to-day.  It 's 
been  put  off,  on  account  of  the  change  in  the 
weather.  You  will  have  due  notice  of  the  re- 
newal of  hostilities.  And  now  you  'd  better  jump 
in  and  I  '11  drive  you  home.  You  've  been  run- 
ning a  fine  rig  !  Why,  you  might  have  both  been 
taken  and  shot  as  spies !  " 

This  special  danger  had  never  even  occurred  to 
us.  The  thrill  of  it  accentuated  the  cosey  homelike 
feeling  of  the  cushions  we  nestled  into  as  we  rolled 
homewards.  The  doctor  beguiled  the  journey 
with  blood-curdling  narratives  of  personal  adven- 
ture in  the  tented  field,  he  having  followed  the 
profession  of  arms  (so  it  seemed)  in  every  quarter 
of  the  globe.  Time,  the  destroyer  of  all  things 
beautiful,  subsequently  revealed   the  baselessness 

46 


Alarums  and  Excursions 

of  these  legends ;  but  what  of  that  ?  There 
are  higher  things  than  truth ;  and  we  were 
almost  reconciled,  by  the  time  we  were  dropped 
at  our  gate,  to  the  fact  that  the  battle  had  been 
postponed. 


47 


The  Finding  of  the  Princess 


49 


THE  FINDING  OF  THE 
PRINCESS. 

IT  was  the  day  I  was  promoted  to  a  tooth-brush. 
The  girls,  irrespective  of  age,  had  been  thus 
distinguished  some  time  before ;  why,  we  boys 
could  never  rightly  understand,  except  that  it  was 
part  and  parcel  of  a  system  of  studied  favouritism 
on  behalf  of  creatures  both  physically  inferior  and 
(as  was  shown  by  a  fondness  for  tale-bearing)  of 
weaker  mental  fibre.  It  was  not  that  we  yearned 
after  these  strange  instruments  in  themselves ;  Ed- 
ward, indeed,  applied  his  to  the  scrubbing-out  of 
his  squirrel's  cage,  and  for  personal  use,  when  a 
superior  eye  was  grim  on  him,  borrowed  Harold's 
or  mine,  indifferently  ;  but  the  nimbus  of  distinc- 
tion that  clung  to  them  —  that  we  coveted  exceed- 
ingly. What  more,  indeed,  was  there  to  ascend 
to,  before  the  remote,  but  still  possible,  razor  and 
strop  ? 

Perhaps  the  exaltation  had  mounted  to  my  head  ; 
or  nature  and  the  perfect  morning  joined  to  hint 
51 


The  Golden  Age 

at  disaffection ;  anyhow,  having  breakfasted,  and 
triumphantly  repeated  the  collect  I  had  broken 
down  in  the  last  Sunday  —  't  was  one  without 
rhythm  or  alliteration  :  a  most  objectionable  collect 
—  having  achieved  thus  much,  the  small  natural 
man  in  me  rebelled,  and  I  vowed,  as  I  straddled 
and  spat  about  the  stable-yard  in  feeble  imitation 
of  the  coachman,  that  lessons  might  go  to  the 
Inventor  of  them.  It  was  only  geography  that 
morning,  any  way  :  and  the  practical  thing  was 
worth  any  quantity  of  bookish  theoretic ;  as  for 
me,  I  was  going  on  my  travels,  and  imports  and 
exports,  populations  and  capitals,  might  very  well 
wait  while  I  explored  the  breathing,  coloured 
world  outside. 

True,  a  fellow-rebel  was  wanted ;  and  Harold 
might,  as  a  rule,  have  been  counted  on  with  cer- 
tainty. But  just  then  Harold  was  very  proud. 
The  week  before  he  had  "gone  into  tables," 
and  had  been  endowed  with  a  new  slate,  having  a 
miniature  sponge  attached,  wherewith  we  washed 
the  faces  of  Charlotte's  dolls,  thereby  producing 
an  unhealthy  pallor  which  struck  terror  into  the 
child's  heart,  always  timorous  regarding  epidemic 
visitations.  As  to  "  tables,"  nobody  knew  exactly 
52 


The  Finding  of  the  Princess 

what  they  were,  least  of  all  Harold ;  but  it  was 
a  step  over  the  heads  of  the  rest,  and  therefore  a 
subject  for  self-adulation  and  —  generally  speaking 
—  airs  ;  so  that  Harold,  hugging  his  slate  and  his 
chains,  was  out  of  the  question  now.  In  such  a 
matter,  girls  were  worse  than  useless,  as  wanting 
the  necessary  tenacity  of  will  and  contempt  for 
self-constituted  authority.  So  eventually  I  slipped 
through  the  hedge  a  solitary  protestant,  and  issued 
forth  on  the  lane  what  time  the  rest  of  the  civi- 
lised world  was  sitting  down  to  lessons. 

The  scene  was  familiar  enough ;  and  yet,  this 
morning,  how  different  it  all  seemed !  The  act, 
with  its  daring,  tinted  everything  with  new,  strange 
hues ;  affecting  the  individual  with  a  sort  of  bruised 
feeling  just  below  the  pit  of  the  stomach,  that  was 
intensified  whenever  his  thoughts  flew  back  to  the 
ink-stained,  smelly  schoolroom.  And  could  this 
be  really  me  ?  or  was  I  only  contemplating,  from 
the  schoolroom  aforesaid,  some  other  jolly  young 
mutineer,  faring  forth  under  the  genial  sun  ?  Any- 
how, here  was  the  friendly  well,  in  its  old  place, 
half  way  up  the  lane.  Hither  the  yoke-shoulder- 
ing village-folk  were  wont  to  come  to  fill  their 
clinking  buckets ;  when  the  drippings  made  worms 
53 


The  Golden  Age 

of  wet  in  the  thick  dust  of  the  road.  They  had 
flat  wooden  crosses  inside  each  pail,  which  floated 
on  the  top  and  (we  were  instructed)  served  to 
prevent  the  water  from  slopping  over.  We  used 
to  wonder  by  what  magic  this  strange  principle 
worked,  and  who  first  invented  the  crosses,  and 
whether  he  got  a  peerage  for  it.  But  indeed  the 
well  was  a  centre  of  mystery,  for  a  hornet's  nest 
was  somewhere  hard  by,  and  the  very  thought  was 
fearsome.  Wasps  we  knew  well  and  disdained, 
storming  them  in  their  fastnesses.  But  these  great 
Beasts,  vestured  in  angry  orange,  three  stings  from 
which  —  so  't  was  averred  —  would  kill  a  horse, 
these  were  of  a  different  kidney,  and  their  warning 
drone  suggested  prudence  and  retreat.  At  this  time 
neither  villagers  nor  hornets  encroached  on  the 
stillness :  lessons,  apparently,  pervaded  all  Nature. 
So,  after  dabbling  awhile  in  the  well  —  what  boy 
has  ever  passed  a  bit  of  water  without  messing  in 
it?  —  I  scrambled  through  the  hedge,  avoiding 
the  hornet-haunted  side,  and  struck  into  the  silence 
of  the  copse. 

If  the  lane  had  been  deserted,  this  was  loneli- 
ness become  personal.      Here  mystery  lurked  and 
peeped ;   here  brambles  caught  and  held  with  a 
54 


The  Finding  of  the  Princess 

purpose  of  their  own,  and  saplings  whipped  the 
face  with  human  spite.  The  copse,  too,  proved 
vaster  in  extent,  more  direfully  drawn  out,  than 
one  would  ever  have  guessed  from  its  frontage 
on  the  lane  :  and  I  was  really  glad  when  at  last 
the  wood  opened  and  sloped  down  to  a  streamlet 
brawling  forth  into  the  sunlight.  By  this  cheery 
companion  I  wandered  along,  conscious  of  little 
but  that  Nature,  in  providing  store  of  water-rats, 
had  thoughtfully  furnished  provender  of  right-sized 
stones.  Rapids,  also,  there  were,  telling  of  canoes 
and  portages  —  crinkling  bays  and  inlets  —  caves 
for  pirates  and  hidden  treasures  —  the  wise  Dame 
had  forgotten  nothing  —  till  at  last,  after  what 
lapse  of  time  I  know  not,  my  further  course,  though 
not  the  stream's,  was  barred  by  some  six  feet  of 
stout  wire  netting,  stretched  from  side  to  side,  just 
where  a  thick  hedge,  arching  till  it  touched,  for- 
bade all  further  view. 

The  excitement  of  the  thing  was  becoming 
thrilling.  A  Black  Flag  must  surely  be  fluttering 
close  by.  Here  was  evidently  a  malignant  con- 
trivance of  the  Pirates,  designed  to  baffle  our  gun- 
boats when  we  dashed  up-stream  to  shell  them 
trom  their  lair.  A  gun-boat,  indeed,  might  well 
55 


The  Golden  Age 

have  hesitated,  so  stout  was  the  netting,  so  close 
the  hedge  :  but  I  spied  where  a  rabbit  was  wont 
to  pass,  close  down  by  the  water's  edge  ;  where 
a  rabbit  could  go  a  boy  could  follow,  albeit  stom- 
ach-wise and  with  one  leg  in  the  stream  ;  so  the 
passage  was  achieved,  and  I  stood  inside,  safe  but 
breathless  at  the  sight. 

Gone  was  the  brambled  waste,  gone  the  flick- 
ering tangle  of  woodland.  Instead,  terrace  after 
terrace  of  shaven  sward,  stone-edged,  urn-cor- 
nered, stepped  delicately  down  to  where  the 
stream,  now  tamed  and  educated,  passed  from  one 
to  another  marble  basin,  in  which  on  occasion 
gleams  of  red  hinted  at  gold-fish  in  among  the 
spreading  water-lilies.  The  scene  lay  silent  and 
slumbrous  in  the  brooding  noonday  sun  :  the 
drowsing  peacock  squatted  humped  on  the  lawn, 
no  fish  leapt  in  the  pools,  nor  bird  declared  him- 
self from  the  environing  hedges.  Self-confessed 
it  was  here,  then,  at  last  the  Garden  of  Sleep ! 

Two  things,  in  those  old  days,  I  held  in  espe- 
cial distrust :  gamekeepers  and  gardeners.  Seeing, 
however,  no  baleful  apparitions  of  either  nature, 
I  pursued  my  way  between  rich  flower-beds,  in 
search  of  the  necessary  Princess.  Conditions  de- 
56 


The  Finding  of  the  Princess 

clared  her  presence  patently  as  trumpets ;  without 
this  centre  such  surroundings  could  not  exist.  A 
pavilion,  gold-topped,  wreathed  with  lush  jessa- 
mine, beckoned  with  a  special  significance  over 
close-set  shrubs.  There,  if  anywhere,  She  should 
be  enshrined.  Instinct,  and  some  knowledge  of 
the  habits  of  princesses,  triumphed  ;  for  (indeed) 
there  She  was !  In  no  tranced  repose,  however, 
but  laughingly,  struggling  to  disengage  her  hand 
from  the  grasp  of  a  grown-up  man  who  occupied 
the  marble  bench  with  her.  (As  to  age,  I  sup- 
pose now  that  the  two  swung  in  respective  scales 
that  pivoted  on  twenty.  But  children  heed  no 
minor  distinctions ;  to  them,  the  inhabited  world 
is  composed  of  the  two  main  divisions :  children 
and  upgrown  people  ;  the  latter  being  in  no  way 
superior  to  the  former — only  hopelessly  differ- 
ent. These  two,  then,  belonged  to  the  grown-up 
section. )  I  paused,  thinking  it  strange  they  should 
prefer  seclusion  when  there  were  fish  to  be  caught, 
and  butterflies  to  hunt  in  the  sun  outside  ;  and  as 
I  cogitated  thus,  the  grown-up  man  caught  sight 
of  me. 

"  Hallo,  sprat !  "  he  said,  with  some  abruptness, 
"  where  do  you  spring  from  ? " 
57 


The  Golden  Age 

"I  came  up  the  stream,"  I  explained  politely 
and  comprehensively,  '*  and  I  was  only  looking 
for  the  Princess." 

"Then  you  are  a  water-baby,"  he  replied. 
"And  what  do  you  think  of  the  Princess,  now 
you  've  found  her  ?  " 

"  I  think  she  is  lovely,"  I  said  (and  doubtless 
I  was  right,  having  never  learned  to  flatter). 
"  But  she  's  wide-awake,  so  I  suppose  somebody 
has  kissed  her  !  " 

This  very  natural  deduction  moved  the  grown- 
up man  to  laughter ;  but  the  Princess,  turning 
red  and  jumping  up,  declared  that  it  was  time  for 
lunch. 

"  Come  along,  then,"  said  the  grown-up  man  ; 
"and  you  too,  Water-baby ;  come  and  have  some- 
thing solid.      You  must  want  it." 

I  accompanied  them,  without  any  feeling  of 
false  delicacy.  The  world,  as  known  to  me,  was 
spread  with  food  each  several  mid-day,  and  the 
particular  table  one  sat  at  seemed  a  matter  of  no 
importance.  The  palace  was  very  sumptuous  and 
beautiful,  just  what  a  palace  ought  to  be  ;  and  we 
were  met  by  a  stately  lady,  rather  more  grown- 
up than  the  Princess  —  apparently  her  mother. 
?8 


The  Finding  of  the  Princess 

Mv  friend  the  Man  was  very  kind,  and  introduced 
me  as  the  Captain,  saying  I  had  just  run  down  from 
Aldershot.  I  did  n't  know  where  Aldershot  was, 
but  had  no  manner  of  doubt  that  he  was  perfectly 
right.  As  a  rule,  indeed,  grown-up  people  are 
fairly  correct  on  matters  of  fact ;  it  is  in  the 
higher  gift  of  imagination  that  they  are  so  sadly  to 
seek. 

The  lunch  was  excellent  and  varied.  Another 
gentleman  in  beautiful  clothes  —  a  lord,  presum- 
ably— -lifted  me  into  a  high  carved  chair,  and 
stood  behind  it,  brooding  over  me  like  a  Provi- 
dence. I  endeavoured  to  explain  who  I  wa9 
and  where  I  had  come  from,  and  to  impress  the 
company  with  my  own  tooth-brush  and  Harold's 
tables;  but  either  they  were  stupid  —  or  is  it  a 
characteristic  of  Fairyland  that  every  one  laughs  at 
the  most  ordinary  remarks  ?  My  friend  the  Man 
said  good-naturedly,  "All  right,  Water-baby  ;  you 
came  up  the  stream,  and  that  's  good  enough  for 
us."  The  lord  —  a  reserved  sort  of  man,  I 
thought  —  took  no  share  in  the  conversation. 

After  lunch  I  walked  on  the  terrace  with  the 
Princess  and  my  friend  the  Man,  and  was  very 
proud.  And  I  told  him  what  I  was  going  to 
S9 


The  Golden  Age 

be,  and  he  told  me  what  he  was  going  to  be ; 
and  then  I  remarked,  "  I  suppose  you  two  are 
going  to  get  married  ?  "  He  only  laughed,  after 
the  Fairy  fashion.  "Because  if  you  aren't,"  I 
added,  "you  really  ought  to":  meaning  only 
that  a  man  who  discovered  a  Princess,  living  in 
the  right  sort  of  Palace  like  this,  and  did  n't 
marry  her  there  and  then,  was  false  to  all  recog- 
nised tradition. 

They  laughed  again,  and  my  friend  suggested 
I  should  go  down  to  the  pond  and  look  at  the 
gold-fish,  while  they  went  for  a  stroll.  I  was 
sleepy,  and  assented ;  but  before  they  left  me, 
the  grown-up  man  put  two  half-crowns  in  my 
hand,  for  the  purpose,  he  explained,  of  treating 
the  other  water-babies.  I  was  so  touched  by 
this  crowning  mark  of  friendship  that  I  nearly 
cried  ;  and  thought  much  more  of  his  generosity 
than  of  the  fact  that  the  Princess,  ere  she  moved 
away,  stooped  down  and  kissed  me. 

I  watched  them  disappear  down  the  path  — 
how  naturally  arms  seem  to  go  round  waists  in 
Fairyland! — and  then,  mv  cheek  on  the  cool 
marble,  lulled  by  the  trickle  of  water,  I  slipped 
into  dreamland  out  of  real  and  magic  world  alike. 
60 


The  Finding:  of  the  Princess 


o 


When  I  woke,  the  sun  had  gone  in,  a  chill  wind 
set  all  the  leaves  a-whispering,  and  the  peacock 
on  the  lawn  was  harshly  calling  up  the  rain. 
A  wild  unreasoning  panic  possessed  me,  and  I 
sped  out  of  the  garden  like  a  guilty  thing,  wrig- 
gled through  the  rabbit-run,  and  threaded  my 
doubtful  way  homewards,  hounded  by  nameless 
terrors.  The  half-crowns  happily  remained  solid 
and  real  to  the  touch  ;  but  could  I  hope  to  bear 
such  treasure  safely  through  the  brigand-haunted 
wood  ?  It  was  a  dirty,  weary  little  object  that 
entered  its  home,  at  nightfall,  by  the  unassuming 
aid  of  the  scullery-window  :  and  only  to  be  sent 
tealess  to  bed  seemed  infinite  mercy  to  him. 
Officially  tealess,  that  is ;  for,  as  was  usual  after 
such  escapades,  a  sympathetic  housemaid,  coming 
delicately  by  backstairs,  stayed  him  with  chunks 
of  cold  pudding  and  condolence,  till  his  small 
skin  was  tight  as  any  drum.  Then,  nature 
asserting  herself,  I  passed  into  the  comforting 
kingdom  of  sleep,  where,  a  golden  carp  of  fattest 
build,  I  oared  it  in  translucent  waters  with  a  new 
half-crown  snug  under  right  fin  and  left;  and 
thrust  up  a  nose  through  water-lily  leaves  to  be 
kissed  by  a  rose-flushed  Princess. 
6« 


Sawdust  and  Sin 


63 


SAWDUST   AND   SIN 

A  BELT  of  rhododendrons  grew  close  .iown 
to  one  side  of  our  pond  ;  and  along  the 
edge  of  it  many  things  flourished  rankly.  If  you 
crept  through  the  undergrowth  and  crouched  by 
the  water's  rim,  it  was  easy  —  if  your  imagination 
were  in  healthy  working  order — to  transport 
yourself  in  a  trice  to  the  heart  of  a  tropical  forest. 
Overhead  the  monkeys  chattered,  parrots  flashed 
from  bough  to  bough,  strange  large  blossoms 
shone  around  you,  and  the  push  and  rustle  of 
great  beasts  moving  unseen  thrilled  you  deli- 
ciouslv.  And  if  you  lay  down  with  your  nose 
an  inch  or  two  from  the  water,  it  was  not  long 
ere  the  old  sense  of  proportion  vanished  clean 
away,  The  glittering  insects  that  darted  to  and 
fro  on  its  surface  became  sea-monsters  dire,  the 
gnats  that  hung  above  them  swelled  to  albatrosses, 
and  the  pond  itself  stretched  out  into  a  vast  in- 
land sea,  whereon  a  navv  might  ride  secure,  and 
65 


The  Golden  Age 

whence  at  any  moment  the  hairy  scalp  of  a  sea- 
serpent  might  be  seen  to  emerge. 

It  is  impossible,  however,  to  play  at  tropical 
forests  properly,  when  homely  accents  of  the  hu- 
man voice  intrude  ;  and  all  my  hopes  of  seeing  a 
tiger  seized  by  a  crocodile  while  drinking  (vide 
picture-books,  passim^)  vanished  abruptly,  and 
earth  resumed  her  old  dimensions,  when  the 
sound  of  Charlotte's  prattle  somewhere  hard  by 
broke  in  on  my  primeval  seclusion.  Looking 
out  from  the  bushes,  I  saw  her  trotting  towards 
an  open  space  of  lawn  the  other  side  the  pond, 
-chattering  to  herself  in  her  accustomed  fashion,  a 
doll  tucked  under  either  arm,  and  her  brow 
knit  with  care.  Propping  up  her  double  burden 
against  a  friendly  stump,  she  sat  down  in  front 
of  them,  as  full  of  worry  and  anxiety  as  a  Chan- 
cellor on  a  Budget  night. 

Her  victims,  who  stared  resignedly  in  front  of 
them,  were  recognisable  as  Jerry  and  Rosa.  Jerry 
hailed  from  far  Japan  :  his  hair  was  straight  and 
black  ;  his  one  garment  cotton,  of  a  simple  blue ; 
and  his  reputation  was  distinctly  bad.  Jerome 
was  his  proper  name,  from  his  supposed  likeness 
to  the  holy  man  who  hung  in  a  print  on  the 
66 


Sawdust  and  Sin 

staircase  ;  though  a  shaven  crown  was  the  only 
thing  in  common  'twixt  Western  saint  and  Eastern 
sinner.  Rosa  was  typical  British,  from  her  flaxen 
poll  to  the  stout  calves  she  displayed  so  liberally, 
and  in  character  she  was  of  the  blameless  order 
of  those  who  have  not  yet  been  found  out. 

I  suspected  Jerry  from  the  first ;  there  was  a 
latent  devilry  in  his  slant  eyes  as  he  sat  there 
moodily,  and  knowing  what  he  was  capable  of  I 
scented  trouble  in  store  for  Charlotte.  Rosa  I 
was  not  so  sure  about ;  she  sat  demurely  and  up- 
right, and  looked  far  away  into  the  tree-tops  in  a 
visionary,  world-forgetting  sort  of  way  ;  yet  the 
prim  purse  of  her  mouth  was  somewhat  overdone, 
and  her  eyes  glittered  unnaturally. 

"  Now,  I  'm  going  to  begin  where  I  left  off," 
said  Charlotte,  regardless  of  stops,  and  thumping 
the  turf  with  her  fist  excitedly  :  "and  you  must 
pay  attention,  'cos  this  is  a  treat,  to  have  a  story 
told  you  before  you  're  put  to  bed.  Well,  so  the 
White  Rabbit  scuttled  off  down  the  passage  and 
Alice  hoped  he  'd  come  back  'cos  he  had  a  waist- 
coat on  and  her  flamingo  flew  up  a  tree  —  but 
we  haven  n't  got  to  that  part  yet  —  you  must  wait 
a  minute,  and  —  where  had  I  got  to  ?  " 
67 


The  Golden  Age 

Jerry  only  remained  passive  until  Charlotte  had 
got  well  under  way,  and  then  began  to  heel  over 
quietly  in  Rosa's  direction.  His  head  fell  on  her 
plump  shoulder,  causing  her  to  start  nervously. 

Charlotte  seized  and  shook  him  with  vigour. 
"  O  Jerry,"  she  cried  piteously,  "  if  you  're  not 
going  to  be  good,  how  ever  shall  I  tell  you  my 
story  ?  " 

Jerry's  face  was  injured  innocence  itself. 
"  Blame  if  you  like,  Madam,"  he  seemed  to  say, 
"  the  eternal  laws  of  gravitation,  but  not  a  help- 
less puppet,  who  is  also  an  orphan  and  a  stranger 
in  the  land." 

"  Now  we  '11  go  on,"  began  Charlotte  once 
more.  "So  she  got  into  the  garden  at  last  — 
I  've  left  out  a  lot,  but  you  won't  care,  I  '11  tell 
you  some  other  time  —  and  they  were  all  playing 
croquet,  and  that 's  where  the  flamingo  comes  in, 
and  the  Oueen  shouted  out,  *  Off  with  her  head ! '  " 

At  this  point  Jerry  collapsed  forward,  suddenly 
and  completely,  his  bald  pate  between  his  knees. 
Charlotte  was  not  very  angry  this  time.  The 
sudden  development  of  tragedy  in  the  story  had 
evidently  been  too  much  for  the  poor  fellow.  She 
straightened  him  out,  wiped  his  nose,  and,  after 


Sawdust  and  Sin 

trying  him  in  various  positions,  to  which  he  re- 
fused to  adapt  himself,  she  propped  him  against  the 
shoulder  of  the  (apparently)  unconscious  Rosa. 
Then  my  eyes  were  opened,  and  the  full  meas- 
ure of  Jerrv's  infamy  became  apparent.  This, 
then,  was  what  he  had  been  playing  up  for. 
The  fellow  had  designs.  I  resolved  to  keep  him 
under  close  observation. 

"If  vou  'd  been  in  the  garden,"  went  on  Char- 
lotte, reproachfully,  "  and  flopped  down  like  that 
when  the  Queen  said  'Off  with  his  head!'  she'd 
have  offed  with  your  head ;  but  Alice  was  n't 
that  sort  of  girl  at  all.  She  just  said,  « I  'm  not 
afraid  of  you,  you  're  nothing  but  a  pack  of  cards ' 
• —  oh,  dear !  I  've  got  to  the  end  already,  and  1 
had  n't  begun  hardly  !  I  never  can  make  my  stories 
last  out !     Never  mind,  I  '11  tell  you  another  one." 

Jerry  did  n't  seem  to  care,  now  he  had  gained 
his  end,  whether  the  stories  lasted  out  or  not. 
He  was  nestling  against  Rosa's  plump  form  with 
a  look  of  satisfaction  that  was  simply  idiotic ;  and 
one  arm  had  disappeared  from  view  —  was  it  round 
her  waist  ?  Rosa's  natural  blush  seemed  deeper 
than  usual,  her  head  inclined  shyly  —  it  must  have 
been  round  her  waist. 

69 


The  Golden  Age 

"  If  it  was  n't  so  near  your  bedtime,"  continued 
Charlotte,  reflectively,  "  I  'd  tell  you  a  nice  story 
with  a  bogy  in  it.  But  you  'd  be  frightened,  and 
you  'd  dream  of  bogies  all  night.  So  I  '11  tell  you 
one  about  a  White  Bear,  only  you  must  n't  scream 
when  the  bear  says  'Wow,'  like  I  used  to, 'cos 
he 's  a  good  bear  really  — " 

Here  Rosa  fell  flat  on  her  back  in  the  deadest 
of  faints.  Her  limbs  were  rigid,  her  eyes  glassy  ; 
what  had  Jerry  been  doing  ?  It  must  have  been 
something  very  bad,  for  her  to  take  on  like  that. 
I  scrutinised  him  carefully,  while  Charlotte  ran 
to  comfort  the  damsel.  He  appeared  to  be  whis- 
tling a  tune  and  regarding  the  scenery.  If  I  only 
possessed  Jerry's  command  of  feature,  I  thought 
to  myself,  half  regretfully,  I  would  never  be  found 
out  in  anything. 

"It's  all  your  fault,  Jerry,"  said  Charlotte, 
reproachfully,  when  the  lady  had  been  restored  to 
consciousness :  "  Rosa 's  as  good  as  gold,  except 
when  you  make  her  wicked.  I  'd  put  you  in  the 
corner,  only  a  stump  has  n't  got  a  corner  —  wonder 
why  that  is  ?  Thought  everything  had  corners. 
Never  mind,  you  '11  have  to  sit  with  your  face  to 
the  wall  —  so.  Now  you  can  sulk  if  you  like!" 
7° 


Sawdust  and  Sin 

Jerry  seemed  to  hesitate  a  moment  between  the 
bliss  of  indulgence  in  sulks  with  a  sense  of  injury, 
and  the  imperious  summons  of  beauty  waiting  to 
be  wooed  at  his  elbow  ;  then,  carried  away  by 
his  passion,  he  fell  sideways  across  Rosa's  lap. 
One  arm  stuck  stiffly  upwards,  as  in  passionate 
protestation ;  his  amorous  countenance  was  full 
of  entreaty.  Rosa  hesitated  —  wavered  —  and 
yielded,  crushing  his  slight  frame  under  the  weight 
of  her  full-bodied  surrender. 

Charlotte  had  stood  a  good  deal,  but  it  was 
possible  to  abuse  even  her  patience.  Snatching 
Jerry  from  his  lawless  embraces,  she  reversed 
him  across  her  knee,  and  then  —  the  outrage  of- 
fered to  the  whole  superior  sex  in  Jerry's  hapless 
person  was  too  painful  to  witness ;  but  though  I 
turned  my  head  away,  the  sound  of  brisk  slaps 
continued  to  reach  my  tingling  ears.  When  I 
looked  again,  Jerry  was  sitting  up  as  before ;  his 
garment,  somewhat  crumpled,  was  restored  to  its 
original  position;  but  his  pallid  countenance  was 
set  hard.  Knowing  as  I  did,  only  too  well,  what 
a  volcano  of  passion  and  shame  must  be  seething 
under  that  impassive  exterior,  for  the  moment  I 
felt  sorry  for  him. 

71 


The  Golden  Age 

Rosa's  face  was  still  buried  in  her  frock  ;  it 
might  have  been  shame,  it  might  have  been  grief 
for  Jerry's  sufferings.  But  the  callous  Japanese 
never  even  looked  her  way.  His  heart  was 
exceeding  bitter  within  him.  In  merely  follow- 
ing up  his  natural  impulses  he  had  run  his  head 
against  convention,  and  learnt  how  hard  a  thing 
it  was  ;  and  the  sunshiny  world  was  all  black  to 
him.  Even  Charlotte  softened  somewhat  at  the 
sight  of  his  rigid  misery.  "If  you  '11  say  you  're 
sorry,  Jerome,"  she  said,  "I'll  say  I'm  sorry, 
too." 

Jerry  only  dropped  his  shoulders  against  the 
stump  and  stared  out  in  the  direction  of  his  dear 
native  Japan,  where  love  was  no  sin,  and  smack- 
ing had  not  been  introduced.  Why  had  he  ever 
left  it?  He  would  go  back  to-morrow  —  and 
yet  there  were  obstacles :  another  grievance. 
Nature,  in  endowing  Jerry  with  every  grace  of 
form  and  feature,  along  with  a  sensitive  soul,  had 
somehow  forgotten  the  gift  of  locomotion. 

There  was  a  crackling  in  the  bushes  behind 
me,  with  sharp  short  pants  as  of  a  small  steam- 
engine,  and  Rollo,  the  black  retriever,  just  released 
from  his  chain  by  some  friendly  hand,  burst 
72 


Sawdust  and  Sin 

through  the  underwood,  seeking  congenial  com- 
pany. I  joyfully  hailed  him  to  stop  and  be  a 
panther  ;  but  he  sped  away  round  the  pond,  up- 
set Charlotte  with  a  boisterous  caress,  and  seizing 
Jerry  by  the  middle,  disappeared  with  him  down 
the  drive.  Charlotte  raved,  panting  behind  the 
swift-footed  avenger  of  crime  ;  Rosa  lay  dishev- 
elled, bereft  of  consciousness  ;  Jerry  himself 
spread  helpless  arms  to  heaven,  and  I  almost 
thought  I  heard  a  crv  for  mercy,  a  tardy  promise 
of  amendment;  but  it  was  too  late.  The  Black 
Man  had  got  Jerry  at  last ;  and  though  the  tear 
of  sensibility  might  moisten  the  eye,  no  one  who 
really  knew  him  could  deny  the  justice  of  his 
fate. 


73 


"  Young  Adam  Cupid  " 


75 


"YOUNG   ADAM    CUPID" 

~\^"0  one  would  have  suspected  Edward  of  be- 
J_  1  ing  in  love,  but  that  after  breakfast,  with  an 
over-acted  carelessness,  "  Anybody  who  likes," 
he  said,  "  can  feed  my  rabbits,"  and  he  disap- 
peared, with  a  jauntiness  that  deceived  nobody, 
in  the  direction  of  the  orchard.  Now,  kingdoms 
might  totter  and  reel,  and  convulsions  change  the 
map  of  Europe  ;  but  the  iron  unwritten  law  pre- 
vailed, that  each  boy  severely  fed  his  own  rabbits. 
There  was  good  ground,  then,  for  suspicion  and 
alarm  ;  and  while  the  lettuce-leaves  were  being 
drawn  through  the  wires,  Harold  and  I  conferred 
seriously  on  the  situation. 

It  may  be  thought  that  the  affair  was  none  of 
our  business ;  and  indeed  we  cared  little  as  indi- 
viduals. We  were  only  concerned  as  members 
of  a  corporation,  for  each  of  whom  the  mental 
or  physical  ailment  of  one  of  his  fellows  might 
have  far-reaching  effects.  It  was  thought  best 
77 


The  Golden  Age 

that  Harold,  as  least  open  to  suspicion  of  motive, 
should  be  despatched  to  probe  and  peer.  His  in- 
structions were,  to  proceed  by  a  report  on  the 
health  of  our  rabbits  in  particular  ;  to  glide  gently 
into  a  discussion  on  rabbits  in  general,  their  cus- 
toms, practices,  and  vices  ;  to  pass  thence,  by  a 
natural  transition,  to  the  female  sex,  the  inherent 
flaws  in  its  composition,  and  the  reasons  for  re- 
garding it  (speaking  broadly)  as  dirt.  He  was 
especially  to  be  very  diplomatic,  and  then  to  re- 
turn and  report  progress.  He  departed  on  his 
mission  gaily  ;  but  his  absence  was  short,  and  his 
return,  discomfited  and  in  tears,  seemed  to  betoken 
some  want  of  parts  for  diplomacy.  He  had  found 
Edward,  it  appeared,  pacing  the  orchard,  with  the 
sort  of  set  smile  that  mountebanks  wear  in  their 
precarious  antics,  fixed  painfully  on  his  face,  as 
with  pins.  Harold  had  opened  well,  on  the  rab- 
bit subject,  but,  with  a  fatal  confusion  between 
the  abstract  and  the  concrete,  had  then  gone  on  to 
remark  that  Edward's  lop-eared  doe,  with  her 
long  hindlegs  and  contemptuous  twitch  of  the  nose, 
always  reminded  him  of  Sabina  Larkin  (a  nine- 
year-old  damsel,  child  of  a  neighbouring  farmer)  : 
at  which  point  Edward,  it  would  seem,  had  turned 
78 


"Young  Adam  Cupid" 

upon  and  savagely  maltreated  him,  twisting  his  arm 
and  punching  him  in  the  short  ribs.  So  that 
Harold  returned  to  the  rabbit-hutches  preceded  by- 
long-drawn  wails  :  anon  wishing,  with  sobs,  that 
he  were  a  man,  to  kick  his  love-lorn  brother : 
anon  lamenting  that  ever  he  had  been  born. 

I  was  not  big  enough  to  stand  up  to  Edward 
personally,  so  I  had  to  console  the  sufferer  by 
allowing  him  to  grease  the  wheels  of  the  donkey- 
cart —  a  luscious  treat  that  had  been  specially  re- 
served for  me,  a  week  past,  by  the  gardener's 
boy,  for  putting  in  a  good  word  on  his  behalf  with 
the  new  kitchen-maid.  Harold  was  soon  all  smiles 
and  grease ;  and  I  was  not,  on  the  whole,  dis- 
satisfied with  the  significant  hint  that  had  been 
gained  as  to  the  fons  et  origo  malt. 

Fortunately,  means  were  at  hand  for  resolving 
any  doubts  on  the  subject,  since  the  morning  was 
Sunday,  and  already  the  bells  were  ringing  for 
church.  Lest  the  connexion  may  not  be  evident 
at  first  sight,  I  should  explain  that  the  gloomy 
period  of  church-time,  with  its  enforced  inaction 
and  its  lack  of  real  interest  —  passed,  too,  within 
sight  of  all  that  the  village  held  of  fairest  —  was 
just  the  one  when  a  young  man's  fancies  lightly 
79 


The  Golden  Age 

turned  to  thoughts  of  love.  For  such  trifling  the 
rest  of  the  week  afforded  no  leisure  ;  but  in  church 
—  well,  there  was  really  nothing  else  to  do ! 
True,  naughts-and-crosses  might  be  indulged  in 
on  fly-leaves  of  prayer-books  while  the  Litany 
dragged  its  slow  length  along ;  but  what  balm  or 
what  solace  could  be  found  for  the  sermon  ? 
Naturally  the  eye,  wandering  here  and  there 
among  the  serried  ranks,  made  bold,  untrammelled 
choice  among  our  fair  fellow-supplicants.  It  was 
in  this  way  that,  some  months  earlier,  under  the 
exceptional  strain  of  the  Athanasian  Creed,  my 
roving  fancy  had  settled  upon  the  baker's  wife  as 
a  fit  object  for  a  life-long  devotion.  Her  riper 
charms  had  conquered  a  heart  which  none  of  her 
be-muslined,  tittering  juniors  had  been  able  to 
subdue ;  and  that  she  was  already  wedded  had 
never  occurred  to  me  as  any  bar  to  my  affection. 
Edward's  general  demeanour,  then,  during  morn- 
ing service,  was  safe  to  convict  him  ;  but  there 
was  also  a  special  test  for  the  particular  case.  It 
happened  that  we  sat  in  a  transept,  and,  the  Lar- 
kins  being  behind  us,  Edward's  only  chance  of 
feasting  on  Sabina's  charms  was  in  the  ail-too  fleet- 
ing interval  when  we  swung  round  eastwards. 
80 


"Young  Adam  Cupid" 

I  was  not  mistaken.  During  the  singing  of  the 
Benedictus  the  impatient  one  made  several  false 
starts,  and  at  last  he  slewed  fairly  round  before  "As 
it  was  in  the  beginning,  is  now,  and  ever  shall  be  " 
was  half  finished.  The  evidence  was  conclusive  : 
a  court  of  law  could  have  desired  no  better. 

The  fact  being  patent,  the  next  thing  was  to 
grapple  with  it ;  and  my  mind  was  fully  occu- 
pied during  the  sermon.  There  was  really  noth- 
ing unfair  or  unbrotherly  in  my  attitude.  A 
philosophic  affection  such  as  mine  own,  which 
clashed  with  nothing,  was  (I  held)  permissible; 
but  the  volcanic  passions  in  which  Edward  in- 
dulged about  once  a  quarter  were  a  serious  inter- 
ference with  business.  To  make  matters  worse, 
next  week  there  was  a  circus  coming  to  the  neigh- 
bourhood, to  which  we  had  all  been  strictly  for- 
bidden to  go ;  and  without  Edward  no  visit  in 
contempt  of  law  and  orders  could  be  successfully 
brought  off.  I  had  sounded  him  as  to  the  circus 
on  our  way  to  church,  and  he  had  replied  briefly 
that  the  very  thought  of  a  clown  made  him  sick. 
Morbidity  could  no  further  go.  But  the  sermon 
came  to  an  end  without  any  line  of  conduct  hav- 
ing suggested  itself;  and  I  walked  home  in  some 
81 


The  Golden  Age 

depression,  feeling  sadly  that  Venus  was  in  the 
ascendant  and  in  direful  opposition,  while  Auriga 
—  the  circus  star  —  drooped  declinant,  perilously 
near  the  horizon. 

By  the  irony  of  fate,  Aunt  Eliza,  of  all  people, 
turned  out  to  be  the  Dea  ex  machina :  which 
thing  fell  out  in  this  wise.  It  was  that  lady's 
obnoxious  practice  to  issue  forth,  of  a  Sunday 
afternoon,  on  a  visit  of  state  to  such  farmers  and 
cottagers  as  dwelt  at  hand ;  on  which  occasion 
she  was  wont  to  hale  a  reluctant  boy  along  with 
her,  from  the  mixed  motives  of  propriety  and 
his  soul's  health.  Much  cudgelling  of  brains,  I 
suppose,  had  on  that  particular  day  made  me 
torpid  and  unwary.  Anyhow,  when  a  victim 
came  to  be  sought  for,  I  fell  an  easy  prey,  while 
the  others  fled  scatheless  and  whooping.  Our 
first  visit  was  to  the  Larkins.  Here  ceremonial 
might  be  viewed  in  its  finest  flower,  and  we 
conducted  ourselves,  like  Queen  Elizabeth  when 
she  trod  the  measure,  "high  and  disposedly." 
In  the  low,  oak-panelled  parlour,  cake  and  cur- 
rant wine  were  set  forth,  and  after  courtesies  and 
compliments  exchanged,  Aunt  Eliza,  greatly  con- 
descending, talked  the  fashions  with  Mrs  Larkin  ; 
82 


"  Young  Adam  Cupid  " 

while  the  farmer  and  I,  perspiring  with  the  un- 
usual effort,  exchanged  remarks  on  the  mutability 
of  the  weather  and  the  steady  fall  in  the  price  of 
corn.  (Who  would  have  thought,  to  hear  us,  that 
only  two  short  days  ago  we  had  confronted  each 
other  on  either  side  of  a  hedge,  — I  triumphant, 
provocative,  derisive ;  he  flushed,  wroth,  crack- 
ing his  whip,  and  volleying  forth  profanity  ?  So 
powerful  is  all-subduing  ceremony  !  )  Sabina  the 
while,  demurely  seated  with  a  Pilgrim1 '  s  Progress 
on  her  knee,  and  apparently  absorbed  in  a  brightly 
coloured  presentment  of  "  Apollyon  Straddling 
Right  across  the  Wav,"  eyed  me  at  times  with 
shy  interest ;  but  repelled  all  Aunt  Eliza's  advances 
with  a  frigid  politeness  for  which  I  could  not  suffi- 
ciently admire  her. 

"It's  surprising  to  me,"  I  heard  my  aunt 
remark  presently,  "how  my  eldest  nephew, 
Edward,  despises  little  girls.  I  heard  him  tell 
Charlotte  the  other  day  that  he  wished  he  could 
exchange  her  for  a  pair  of  Japanese  guinea-pigs. 
It  made  the  poor  child  cry.  Boys  are  so  heart- 
less !  "  (I  saw  Sabina  stiffen  as  she  sat,  and  her 
tip-tilted  nose  twitched  scornfully.)  "  Now  this 
boy  here  —  "  (my  soul  descended  into  my  very 
83 


The  Golden  Age 

boots.  Could  the  woman  have  intercepted  any  of 
my  amorous  glances  at  the  baker's  wife  ?)  "  Now 
this  boy,"  my  aunt  went  on,  "  is  more  human 
altogether.  Only  yesterday  he  took  his  sister  to 
the  baker's  shop,  and  spent  his  only  penny  buy- 
ing her  sweets.  I  thought  it  showed  such  a 
nice  disposition.  I  wish  Edward  were  more  like 
him !  " 

I  breathed  again.  It  was  unnecessary  to  ex- 
plain my  real  motives  for  that  visit  to  the  baker's. 
Sabina's  face  softened,  and  her  contemptuous  nose 
descended  from  its  altitude  of  scorn  ;  she  gave  me 
one  shy  glance  of  kindness,  and  then  concentrated 
her  attention  upon  Mercy  knocking  at  the  Wicket 
Gate.  I  felt  awfully  mean  as  regarded  Edward  ; 
but  what  could  I  do  ?  I  was  in  Gaza,  gagged 
and  bound  ;   the  Philistines  hemmed  me  in. 

The  same  evening  the  storm  burst,  the  bolt 
fell,  and  —  to  continue  the  metaphor  —  the  atmos- 
phere grew  serene  and  clear  once  more.  The 
evening  service  was  shorter  than  usual,  the  vicar, 
as  he  ascended  the  pulpit  steps,  having  dropped 
two  pages  out  of  his  sermon-case,  —  unperceived 
by  any  but  ourselves,  either  at  the  moment  or 
subsequently  when  the  hiatus  was  reached ;  so  as 
84 


cc  Young  Adam  Cupid" 

we  joyfully  shuffled  out  I  whispered  Edward  that 
by  racing  home  at  top  speed  we  should  make  time 
to  assume  our  bows  and  arrows  (laid  aside  for  the 
day)  and  play  at  Indians  and  buffaloes  with  Aunt 
Eliza's  fowls  —  already  strolling  roostwards,  re- 
gardless of  their  doom  —  before  that  sedately  step- 
ping lady  could  return.  Edward  hung  at  the  door, 
wavering  ;  the  suggestion  had  unhallowed  charms. 
At  that  moment  Sabina  issued  primly  forth,  and, 
seeing  Edward,  put  out  her  tongue  at  him  in  the 
most  exasperating  manner  conceivable ;  then  passed 
on  her  wav,  her  shoulders  rigid,  her  dainty  head 
held  high.  A  man  can  stand  very  much  in  the 
cause  of  love  :  poverty,  aunts,  rivals,  barriers  of 
every  sort,  —  all  these  only  serve  to  fan  the  flame. 
But  personal  ridicule  is  a  shaft  that  reaches  the  very 
vitals.  Edward  led  the  race  home  at  a  speed  which 
one  of  Ballantyne's  heroes  might  have  equalled  but 
never  surpassed  ;  and  that  evening  the  Indians  dis- 
persed Aunt  Eliza's  fowls  over  several  square  miles 
of  country,  so  that  the  tale  of  them  remaineth  in- 
complete unto  this  day.  Edward  himself,  cheering 
wildly,  pursued  the  big  Cochin-China  cock  till  the 
bird  sank  gasping  under  the  drawing-room  window, 
whereat  its  mistress  stood  petrified ;  and  after  sup- 
8S 


The  Golden  Age 

per,  in  the  shrubbery,  smoked  a  half-consumed  cigar 
he  had  picked  up  in  the  road,  and  declared  to  an 
awe-stricken  audience  his  final,  his  immitigable, 
resolve  to  go  into  the  army. 

The  crisis  was  past,  and  Edward  was  saved ! 
«  .  .  And  yet  .  .  .  sunt  lacbryma  rerum  .  .  . 
to  me  watching  the  cigar-stump  alternately  pale 
and  glow  against  the  dark  background  of  laurel,  a 
vision  of  a  tip-tilted  nose,  of  a  small  head  poised 
scornfully,  seemed  to  hover  on  the  gathering  gloom 
—  seemed  to  grow  and  fade  and  grow  again,  like 
the  grin  of  the  Cheshire  cat  —  pathetically,  re- 
proachfully even ;  and  the  charms  of  the  baker's 
wife  slipped  from  my  memory  like  snow-wreaths 
in  thaw.  After  all,  Sabina  was  nowise  to  blame  : 
why  should  the  child  be  punished?  To-morrow 
I  would  give  them  the  slip,  and  stroll  round  by 
her  garden  promiscuous-like,  at  a  time  when  the 
farmer  was  safe  in  the  rick-yard.  If  nothing  came 
of  it,  there  was  no  harm  done ;  and  if  on  the 
contrary.   .   .   ! 


86 


The  Burglars 


87 


THE    BURGLARS 

IT  was  much  too  fine  a  night  to  think  of  going 
to  bed  at  once,  and  so,  although  the  witch- 
ing hour  of  nine  p.m.  had  struck,  Edward  and  I 
were  still  leaning  out  of  the  open  window  in  our 
nightshirts,  watching  the  play  of  the  cedar-branch 
shadows  on  the  moonlit  lawn,  and  planning 
schemes  of  fresh  devilry  for  the  sunshiny  morrow. 
From  below,  strains  of  the  jocund  piano  declared 
that  the  Olympians  were  enjoying  themselves  in 
their  listless,  impotent  way ;  for  the  new  curate 
had  been  bidden  to  dinner  that  night,  and  was 
at  the  moment  unclerically  proclaiming  to  all  the 
world  that  he  feared  no  foe.  His  discordant 
vociferations  doubtless  started  a  train  of  thought 
in  Edward's  mind,  for  the  youth  presently  re- 
marked, a  propos  of  nothing  that  had  been  said 
before,  "  I  believe  the  new  curate  's  rather  gone 
on  Aunt  Maria." 

I  scouted  the  notion.  "  Why,  she  's  quite 
old,"  I  said.  (She  must  have  seen  some  five- 
and-twenty  summers.) 


The  Golden  Age 

"Of  course  she  is," replied  Edward,  scornfully,, 
"  It 's  not  her,  it 's  her  money  he  's  after,  you 
bet ! " 

"  Did  n't  know  she  had  any  money,"  I  observed 
timidly. 

"  Sure  to  have,"  said  my  brother,  with  confi- 
dence.     "  Heaps  and  heaps." 

Silence  ensued,  both  our  minds  being  busy 
with  the  new  situation  thus  presented,  —  mine, 
in  wonderment  at  this  flaw  that  so  often  declared 
itself  in  enviable  natures  of  fullest  endowment, — 
in  a  grown-up  man  and  a  good  cricketer,  for 
instance,  even  as  this  curate;  Edward's  (appar- 
ently), in  the  consideration  of  how  such  a  state  of 
things,  supposing  it  existed,  could  be  best  turned 
to  his  own  advantage. 

"  Bobby  Ferris  told  me,"  began  Edward  in 
due  course,  "  that  there  was  a  fellow  spooning  his 
sister  once  —  " 

"  What 's  spooning  ?  "  I  asked  meekly. 

"  Oh,  /  dunno,"  said  Edward,  indifferently. 
"It's  —  it's  —  it's  just  a  thing  they  do,  you 
know.  And  he  used  to  carry  notes  and  messages 
and  things  between  'em,  and  he  got  a  shilling 
almost  every  time." 

9° 


The  Burglars 

"  What,  from  each  of  'em  ?  "  I  innocently 
inquired. 

Edward  looked  at  me  with  scornful  pity. 
"  Girls  never  have  any  money,"  he  briefly  ex- 
plained. "  But  she  did  his  exercise?  and  got 
him  out  of  rows,  and  told  stories  for  him  when 
he  needed  it  —  and  much  better  ones  than  he 
could  have  made  up  for  himself.  Girls  are  use- 
ful in  some  ways.  So  he  was  living  in  clover, 
when  unfortunately  they  went  and  quarrelled 
about  something." 

"  Don't  see  what  that's  got  to  do  with  it,"  I 
said. 

"Nor  don't  I,"  rejoined  Edward.  "  But 
anyhow  the  notes  and  things  stopped,  and  so  did 
the  shillings.  Bobby  was  fairly  cornered,  for  he 
had  bought  two  ferrets  on  tick,  and  promised  to 
pay  a  shilling  a  week,  thinking  the  shillings 
were  going  on  for  ever,  the  silly  young  ass. 
So  when  the  week  was  up,  and  he  was  being 
dunned  for  the  shilling,  he  went  off  to  the  fellow 
and  said,  '  Your  broken-hearted  Bella  implores 
you  to  meet  her  at  sundown,  —  by  the  hollow 
oak,  as  of  old,  be  it  only  for  a  moment.  Do 
not  fail ! '  He  got  all  that  out  of  some  rotten 
9! 


The  Goiden  Age 

book,  of  course.  The  fellow  looked  puzzled 
and  said,  — 

tf  «  What  hollow  oak  ?  I  don't  know  any  hol- 
low oak.' 

"'Perhaps  it  was  the  Royal  Oak?'  said 
Bobby  promptly,  'cos  he  saw  he  had  made  a 
slip,  through  trusting  too  much  to  the  rotten 
book;  but  this  didn't  seem  to  make  the  feJlow 
any  happier." 

"  Should  think  not,"  I  said,  **  the  Royal  Oak  's 
an  awful  low  sort  of  pub." 

"  I  know,"  said  Edward.  "  Well,  at  last  the 
fellow  said,  '  I  think  I  know  what  she  means : 
the  hollow  tree  in  your  father's  paddock.  It 
happens  to  be  an  elm,  but  she  wouldn't  know 
the  difference.  All  right :  say  I  '11  be  there.' 
Bobby  hung  about  a  bit,  for  he  hadn't  got  his 
money.  'She  was  crying  awfully,'  he  said. 
Then  he  got  his  shilling." 

"And  wasn't  the  fellow  riled,"  I  inquired, 
"  when  he  got  to  the  place  and  found  nothing?" 

"  He  found  Bobby,"  said  Edward,  indignantly. 
"  Young  Ferris  was  a  gentleman,  every  inch  of 
him.  He  brought  the  fellow  another  message 
from  Bella :    '  I  dare   not  leave  the  house.      My 

Q2 


The  Burglars 

cruel  parents  immure  me  closely,  If  you  only 
knew  what  I  suffer.  Your  broken-hearted  Bella.' 
Out  of  the  same  rotten  book.  This  made  the  fel- 
low a  little  suspicious,  'cos  it  was  the  old  Femses 
who  had  been  keen  about  the  thing  all  through  : 
the  fellow,  you  see,  had  tin." 

<  But  what  's  that  got  to  — "  I  began  again. 
"  Oh,  /  dunno,"  said  Edward,  impatiently. 
CI  'm  telling  you  just  what  Bobby  told  me.  He 
got  suspicious,  anyhow,  but  he  could  n't  exactly 
call  Bella's  brother  a  liar,  so  Bobby  escaped  for  the 
time.  But  when  he  was  in  a  hole  next  week, 
over  a  stiff  French  exercise,  and  tried  the  same 
sort  of  game  on  his  sister,  she  was  too  sharp  for 
him,  and  he  got  caught  out.  Somehow  women 
seem  more  mistrustful  than  men.  They  're  so 
beastly  suspicious  by  nature,  you  know." 

"  /  know,"  said  I.      "But  did  the  two the 

fellow  and  the  sister  —  make  it  up  afterwards?" 
"I  don't  remember  about  that,"  replied  Ed- 
ward, indifferently  ;  "but  Bobbv  got  packed  off 
to  school  a  whole  vea,  earlier  than  his  people 
meant  to  send  him,  —  which  was  jusr  whal  he 
wanted.  So  vou  see  it  all  came  right  in  th" 
end  ! " 

93 


The  Golden  Age 

I  was  trying  to  puzzle  out  the  moral  cf  this 

story  —  it  was  evidently  meant  to  contain  one 
somewhere  —  when  a  flood  of  golden  lamplight 
mingled  with  the  moon-rays  on  the  lawn,  and 
Aunt  Maria  and  the  new  curate  strolled  out  on 
the  grass  below  us,  and  took  the  direction  of  a 
garden-seat  that  was  backed  by  a  dense  laurel 
shrubbery  reaching  round  in  a  half-circle  to  the 
house.  Edward  meditated  moodily.  "If  we 
only  knew  what  they  were  talking  about,"  said 
he,  "  you  'd  soon  see  whether  I  was  right  or  not. 
Look  here  !  Let  's  send  the  kid  down  by  the 
porch  to  reconnoitre  !  " 

"  Harold 's  asleep,"  I  said;  "it  seems  rather 
a  shame  —  " 

"Oh,  rot!"  said  my  brother;  "he's  the 
youngest,  and  he  's  got  to  do  as  he  's  told  !  " 

So  the  luckless  Harold  was  hauled  out  of  bed 
and  given  his  sailing-orders.  He  was  naturally 
rather  vexed  at  being  stood  up  suddenly  on  the 
cold  floor,  and  the  job  had  no  particular  interest 
for  him  ;  but  he  was  both  staunch  and  well  dis- 
ciplined. The  means  of  exit  were  simple  enough. 
A  porch  of  iron  trellis  came  up  to  within  easy 
Teach  of  the  window,  and  was  habitually  used  by 
94 


The  Burglars 

all  three  of  us,  when  modestly  anxious  to  avoid 
public  notice.  Harold  climbed  deftly  down  the 
porch  like  a  white  rat,  and  his  night-gown  glim- 
mered a  moment  on  the  gravel  walk  ere  he  was 
lost  to  sight  in  the  darkness  of  the  shrubbery,  A 
brief  interval  of  silence  ensued,  broken  suddenly 
by  a  sound  of  scuffle,  and  then  a  shrill,  long-drawn 
squeal,  as  of  metallic  surfaces  in  friction.  Our 
scout  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy  ! 

Indolence  alone  had  made  us  devolve  the  task 
of  investigation  on  our  younger  brother.  Now 
that  danger  had  declared  itself,  there  was  no  hesi- 
tation. In  a  second  we  were  down  the  side  of 
the  porch,  and  crawling  Cherokee-wise  through 
the  laurels  to  the  back  of  the  garden-seat.  Piteous 
was  the  sight  that  greeted  us.  Aunt  Maria  was 
on  the  seat,  in  a  white  evening  frock,  looking  — 
for  an  aunt — really  quite  nice.  On  the  lawn 
stood  an  incensed  curate,  grasping  our  small  brother 
by  a  large  ear,  which  — judging  from  the  row  he 
was  making  —  seemed  on  the  point  of  parting  com- 
panv  with  the  head  it  adorned.  The  gruesome 
noise  he  was  emitting  did  not  really  affect  us  other- 
wise than  aesthetically.  To  one  who  has  tried  both, 
the  wail  of  genuine  physical  anguish  is  easy  dis- 
95 


The  Golden  Age 

tinguishable  from  the  pumped-up  ad  misericordiam 
blubber.  Harold's  could  clearly  be  recognised  as  be- 
longing to  the  latter  class.  "  Now,  you  young  —  " 
(whelp,  I  think  it  was,  but  Edward  stoutly  main- 
tains it  was  devil),  said  the  curate,  sternly;  "tell 
us  what  you  mean  by  it !  " 

"  Well,  leggo  of  my  ear  then  !  "  shrilled  Harold, 
"  and  I  '11  tell  you  the  solemn  truth  !  " 

"  Very  well,"  agreed  the  curate,  releasing  him  ; 
"  now  go  ahead,  and  don't  lie  more  than  you  can 
help." 

We  abode  the  promised  disclosure  without  the 
least  misgiving;  but  even  we  had  hardly  given 
Harold  due  credit  for  his  fertility  of  resource  and 
powers  of  imagination. 

"  I  had  just  finished  saying  my  prayers,"  began 
that  young  gentleman,  slowly,  "  when  I  happened 
to  look  out  of  the  window,  and  on  the  lawn  I  saw 
a  sight  which  froze  the  marrow  in  my  veins !  A 
burglar  was  approaching  the  house  with  snake-like 
tread  !  He  had  a  scowl  and  a  dark  lantern,  and 
he  was  armed  to  the  teeth  !  " 

We  listened  with  interest.  The  style,  though 
unlike  Harold's  native  notes,  seemed  strangely 
familiar. 

96 


The  Burglars 

**  Go  on,"  said  the  curate,  grimly. 

*'  Pausing  in  his  stealthy  career,"  continued 
Harold,  "  he  gave  a  low  whisde.  Instantly  the 
signal  was  responded  to,  and  from  the  adjacent 
shadows  two  more  figures  glided  forth.  The  mis- 
creants were  both  armed  to  the  teeth." 

"  Excellent,"  said  the  curate;   "proceed." 

"  The  robber  chief,"  pursued  Harold,  warming 
to  his  work,  "joined  his  nefarious  comrades,  and 
conversed  with  them  in  silent  tones.  His  expres- 
sion was  truly  ferocious,  and  I  ought  to  have  said 
that  he  was  armed  to  the  t —  " 

"  There,  never  mind  his  teeth,"  interrupted  the 
curate,  rudely ;  "  there  's  too  much  jaw  about  you 
altogether.      Hurry  up  and  have  done." 

"  I  was  in  a  frightful  funk,"  continued  the  nar- 
rator, warily  guarding  his  ear  with  his  hand,  "  but 
just  then  the  drawing-room  window  opened,  and 
you  and  Aunt  Maria  came  out  —  I  mean  emerged. 
The  burglars  vanished  silently  into  the  laurels,  with 
horrid  implications !  " 

The  curate  looked  slightly  puzzled.      The  tale 

was  well  sustained,  and  certainlv  circumstantial. 

After  all,  the  boy  might  have  really  seen  something 

How  was  the  poor  man   to   know  —  though  the 

97 


The  Golden  Age 


b 


chaste  and  lofty  diction  might  have  supplied  a  hint 
—  that  the  whole  yarn  was  a  free  adaptation  from 
the  last  Penny  Dreadful  lent  us  by  the  knife-and- 
boot  boy  ? 

"  Why  did  you  not  alarm  the  house  ? "  he  asked. 

"  'Cos  I  was  afraid,"  said  Harold,  sweetly,  "  that 
p'raps  they  might  n't  believe  me  !  " 

"  But  how  did  you  get  down  here,  you  naughty 
little  boy  ?  "  put  in  Aunt  Maria. 

Harold  was  hard  pressed  —  by  his  own  flesh  and 
blood,  too ! 

At  that  moment  Edward  touched  me  on  the 
shoulder  and  glided  off  through  the  laurels.  When 
some  ten  yards  away  he  gave  a  low  whistle.  I  re- 
plied by  another.  The  effect  was  magical.  Aunt 
Maria  started  up  with  a  shriek.  Harold  gave  one 
startled  glance  around,  and  then  fled  like  a  hare, 
made  straight  for  the  back  door,  burst  in  upon  the 
servants  at  supper,  and  buried  himself  in  the  broad 
bosom  of  the  cook,  his  special  ally.  The  curate 
faced  the  laurels  —  hesitatingly.  But  Aunt  Maria 
flung  herself  on  him.  "  O  Mr.  Hodgitts !  "  I 
heard  her  crv,  "  you  are  brave  !  for  my  sake  do 
not  be  rash  !  "  He  was  not  rash.  When  I  peeped 
out  a  second  later,  the  coast  was  entirely  clear. 
98 


The  Burglars 

Bv  this  time  there  were  sounds  of  a  household 
timidly  emerging ;  and  Edward  remarked  to  me 
that  perhaps  we  had  better  be  off.  Retreat  was 
an  easy  matter.  A  stunted  laurel  gave  a  leg  up 
on  to  the  garden  wall,  which  led  in  its  turn  to  the 
roof  of  an  out-house,  up  which,  at  a  dubious  angle, 
we  could  crawl  to  the  window  of  the  box-room. 
This  overland  route  had  been  revealed  to  us  one 
day  by  the  domestic  cat,  when  hard  pressed  in  the 
course  of  an  otter-hunt,  in  which  the  cat  —  some- 
what unwillingly  —  was  filling  the  title  role ,-  and 
it  had  proved  distinctly  useful  on  occasions  like  the 
present.  We  were  snug  in  bed  —  minus  some  cuti- 
cle from  knees  and  elbows  —  and  Harold,  sleepily 
chewing  something  sticky,  had  been  carried  up  in 
the  arms  of  the  friendly  cook,  ere  the  clamour  of 
the  burglar-hunters  had  died  away. 

The  curate's  undaunted  demeanour,  as  reported 
by  Aunt  Maria,  was  generally  supposed  to  have 
terrified  the  burglars  into  flight,  and  much  kudos 
accrued  to  him  therebv.  Some  days  later,  how- 
ever, when  he  had  dropped  in  to  afternoon  tea,  and 
was  making  a  mild  curatorial  joke  about  the  moral 
courage  required  for  taking  the  last  piece  of  bread- 
and-butter,  I  felt  constrained  to  remark  dreamily, 
99 


The  Golden  Age 

and  as  it  were  to  the  universe  at  large,  "  Mr. 
Hodgitts !  you  are  brave !  for  my  sake,  do  not  be 
rash  !  " 

Fortunately  for  me,  the  vicar  was  also  a  caller 
on  that  day  ;  and  it  was  alwa/s  a  comparatively 
easy  matter  to  dodge  my  long-coated  friend  in  the 
open. 


100 


A  Harvesting 


IOI 


A    HARVESTING 

THE  year  was  in  its  yellowing  time,  and  the 
face  of  Nature  a  study  in  old  gold.  "  A 
field  or,  seme'e  with  garbs  of  the  same  :  "  it  may 
be  false  Heraldry  —  Nature's  generally  is  —  but  it 
correctly  blazons  the  display  that  Edward  and  I 
considered  from  the  rickyard  gate.  Harold  was 
not  on  in  this  scene,  being  stretched  upon  the 
couch  of  pain  ;  the  special  disorder  stomachic, 
as  usual.  The  evening  before,  Edward,  in  a  fit 
of  unwonted  amiability,  had  deigned  to  carve 
me  out  a  turnip  lantern,  an  art-and-craft  he  was 
peculiarly  deft  in  ;  and  Harold,  as  the  interior  of 
the  turnip  flew  out  in  scented  fragments  under 
the  hollowing  knife,  had  eaten  largely  thereof: 
regarding  all  such  jetsam  as  his  special  perquisite. 
Now  he  was  dreeing  his  weird,  with  such  assist- 
ance as  the  chemist  could  afford.  But  Edward 
and  I,  knowing  that  this  particular  field  was  to 
be  carried  to-day,  were  revelling  in  the  privilege 
of  riding  in  the  empty  waggons  from  the  rick- 
103 


The  Golden  Age 

yard  back  to  the  sheaves,  whence  we  returned 
toilfully  on  foot,  to  career  it  again  over  the  bil- 
lowy acres  in  these  great  galleys  of  a  stubble  sea. 
It  was  the  nearest  approach  to  sailing  that  we 
inland  urchins  might  compass :  and  hence  it 
ensued,  that  such  stirring  scenes  as  Sir  Richard 
Grenville  on  the  Revenge,  the  smoke- wreathed 
Battle  of  the  Nile,  and  the  Death  of  Nelson,  had 
all  been  enacted  in  turn  on  these  dusty  quarter- 
decks, as  they  swayed  and  bumped  afield. 

Another  waggon  had  shot  its  load,  and  was 
jolting  out  through  the  rickyard  gate,  as  we  swung 
ourselves  in,  shouting,  over  its  tail.  Edward 
was  the  first  up,  and,  as  I  gained  my  feet,  he 
clutched  me  in  a  death-grapple.  I  was  a  priva- 
teersman,  he  proclaimed,  and  he  the  captain  of 
the  British  frigate  Terpsichore,  of  —  I  forget  the 
precise  number  of  guns.  Edward  always  col- 
lared the  best  parts  to  himself;  but  I  was  hold- 
ing my  own  gallantly,  when  I  suddenly  discov- 
ered that  the  floor  we  battled  on  was  swarming 
with  earwigs.  Shrieking,  I  hurled  free  of  him, 
and  rolled  over  the  tail-board  on  to  the  stubble. 
Edward  executed  a  war-dance  of  triumph  on  the 
deck  of  the  retreating  galleon  ;  but  I  cared  little 
104 


A   Harvesting 

for  that.  I  knew  he  knew  that  I  was  n't  afraid 
of  him,  but  that  I  was  —  and  terribly  —  of  ear- 
wigs, "  those  mortal  bugs  o'  the  field."  So  I 
let  him  disappear,  shouting  lustily  for  all  hands 
to  repel  boarders,  while  I  strolled  inland,  down 
the  village. 

There  was  a  touch  of  adventure  in  the  expe- 
dition. This  was  not  our  own  village,  but  a 
foreign  one,  distant  at  least  a  mile.  One  felt 
that  sense  of  mingled  distinction  and  insecurity 
which  is  familiar  to  the  traveller :  distinction,  in 
that  folk  turned  the  head  to  note  you  curiously; 
insecurity,  by  reason  of  the  ever-present  possi- 
bility of  missiles  on  the  part  of  the  more  juvenile 
inhabitants,  a  class  eternally  conservative.  Elated 
with  isolation,  I  went  even  more  nose-in-air  than 
usual :  and  "even  so,"  I  mused,  "  might  Mungo 
Park  have  threaded  the  trackless  African  forest 
and  .  .  ."  Here  I  plumped  against  a  soft,  but 
resisting  body. 

Recalled  to  my  senses  by  the  shock,  I  fell  back 
in  the  attitude  every  boy  under  these  circum- 
stances instinctively  adopts — both  elbows  well 
up  over  the  ears.  I  found  myself  facing  a  tall 
elderly  man,  clean-shaven,  clad  in  well-won' 
105 


The  Golden  Age 

black  —  a  clergyman  evidently;  and  I  noted  at 
once  a  far-away  look  in  his  eyes,  as  if  they  were 
used  to  another  plane  of  vision,  and  could  not 
instantly  focus  things  terrestrial,  being  suddenly 
recalled  thereto.  His  figure  was  bent  in  apolo- 
getic protest :  "  I  ask  a  thousand  pardons,  sir," 
he  said  ;  '- 1  am  really  so  very  absent-minded. 
I  trust  you  will  forgive  me." 

Now  most  boys  would  have  suspected  chaff 
under  this  courtly  style  of  address.  I  take  infi- 
nite credit  to  myself  for  recognising  at  once  the 
natural  attitude  of  a  man  to  whom  his  fellows 
were  gentlemen  all,  neither  Jew  nor  Gentile, 
clean  nor  unclean.  Of  course,  I  took  the  blame 
on  myself;  adding,  that  I  was  very  absent- 
minded  too,  —  which  was  indeed  the  case. 

"I  perceive,"  he  said  pleasantly,  "that  we 
have  something  in  common.  I,  an  old  man, 
dream  dreams ;  you,  a  young  one,  see  visions. 
Your  lot  is  the  happier.  And  now  — "  his  hand 
had  been  resting  all  this  time  on  a  wicket-gate  — 
"  you  are  hot,  it  is  easily  seen ;  the  day  is  ad- 
vanced, Virgo  is  the  Zodiacal  sign.  Perhaps  I 
may  offer  you  some  poor  refreshment,  if  your 
engagements  will  permit." 
106 


A   Harvesting 

My  only  engagement  that  afternoon  was  an  arith- 
metic lesson,  and  I  had  not  intended  to  keep  it  in 
any  case ;  so  I  passed  in,  while  he  held  the  gate 
open  politely,  murmuring  "  Fen  it  Hesperus,  ite, 
capell<£ :  come,  little  kid !  "  and  then  apologising 
abjectlv  for  a  familiarity  which  (he  said)  was  less 
his  than  the  Roman  poet's.  A  straight  flagged  walk 
led  up  to  the  cool-looking  old  house,  and  my  host, 
lingering  in  his  progress  at  this  rose-tree  and  that, 
forgot  all  about  me  at  least  twice,  waking  up  and 
apologising  humbly  after  each  lapse.  During  these 
intervals  I  put  two  and  two  together,  and  identified 
him  as  the  Rector  :  a  bachelor,  eccentric,  learned 
exceedingly,  round  whom  the  crust  of  legend  was 
already  beginning  to  form  ;  to  myself  an  object  of 
special  awe,  in  that  he  was  alleged  to  have  written 
a  real  book.  "  Heaps  o'  books,"  Martha,  my  in- 
formant, said ;  but  I  knew  the  exact  rate  of  dis- 
count applicable  to  Martha's  statements. 

We  passed  eventually  through  a  dark  hall  into  a 
room  which  struck  me  at  once  as  the  ideal  I  had 
dreamed  but  failed  to  find.  None  of  your  femi- 
nine fripperies  here  !  None  of  your  chair-backs  and 
tidies !  This  man,  it  was  seen,  groaned  under  no 
aunts.  Stout  volumes  in  calf  and  vellum  lined  three 
107 


The  Golden  Age 

sides ;  books  sprawled  or  hunched  themselves  on 
chairs  and  tables ;  books  diffused  the  pleasant  odour 
of  printers'  ink  and  bindings ;  topping  all,  a  faint 
aroma  of  tobacco  cheered  and  heartened  exceedingly, 
as  under  foreign  skies  the  flap  and  rustle  over  the 
wayfarer's  head  of  the  Union  Jack  —  the  old  flag 
of  emancipation  !  And  in  one  corner,  book-piled 
like  the  rest  of  the  furniture,  stood  a  piano. 

This  I  hailed  with  a  squeal  of  delight.  "  Want 
to  strum  ?  "  inquired  my  friend,  as  if  it  was  the 
most  natural  wish  in  the  world  —  his  eyes  were 
already  straying  towards  another  corner,  where  bits 
of  writing-table  peeped  out  from  under  a  sort  of 
Alpine  system  of  book  and  foolscap. 

"  O,  but  may  I  ?  "  I  asked  in  doubt.  "At  home 
I  'm  not  allowed  to  —  only  beastly  exercises !  " 

"  Well,  you  can  strum  here,  at  all  events,"  he  re- 
plied ;  and  murmuring  absently,  Age,  die  Latinum, 
barbite,  carmen,  he  made  his  way,  mechanically 
guided  as  it  seemed,  to  the  irresistible  writing-table. 
In  ten  seconds  he  was  out  of  sight  and  call.  A 
great  book  open  on  his  knee,  another  propped  up 
in  front,  a  score  or  so  disposed  within  easy  reach, 
he  read  and  jotted  with  an  absorption  almost  pas- 
sionate. I  might  have  been  in  Bceotia,  for  any 
108 


A   Harvesting 

consciousness  he  had  of  me.  So  with  a  light  heart 
1  turned  to  and  strummed. 

Those  who  painfully  and  with  bleeding  feet 
have  scaled  the  crags  of  mastery  over  musical  in- 
struments have  yet  their  loss  in  this,  —  that  the  wild 
joy  of  strumming  has  become  a  vanished  sense. 
Their  happiness  comes  from  the  concord  and  the 
relative  value  of  the  notes  they  handle :  the  pure, 
absolute  quality  and  nature  of  each  note  in  itself 
are  only  appreciated  by  the  strummer.  For  some 
notes  have  all  the  sea  in  them,  and  some  cathedral 
bells ;  others  a  woodland  joyance  and  a  smell  of 
greenen' ;  in  some  fauns  dance  to  the  merrv  reed, 
and  even  the  grave  centaurs  peep  out  from  their 
caves.  Some  bring  moonlight,  and  some  the  deep 
crimson  of  a  rose's  heart ;  some  are  blue,  some  red, 
and  others  will  tell  of  an  army  with  silken  stand- 
ards and  march-music.  And  throughout  all  the 
sequence  of  suggestion,  up  above  the  little  white 
men  leap  and  peep,  and  strive  against  the  imprison- 
ing wires ;  and  all  the  big  rosewood  box  hums  as 
it  were  full  of  hiving  bees. 

Spent  with  the  rapture,  I  paused  a  moment  and 
caught  my  friend's  eye  over  the  edge  of  a  folio. 
"  But  as  for  these  Germans,"  ne  began  abruptly, 
log 


The  Golden  Age 

as  if  we  had  been  in  the  middle  of  a  discussion, 
"  the  scholarship  is  there,  I  grant  you  ;  but  the 
spark,  the  fine  perception,  the  happy  intuition, 
where  is  it  ?     They  get  it  all  from  us !  " 

"  They  get  nothing  whatever  from  us"  I  said 
decidedly :  the  word  German  only  suggesting 
Bands,  to  which  Aunt  Eliza  was  bitterly  hostile. 

"  You  think  not  ? "  he  rejoined,  doubtfully, 
getting  up  and  walking  about  the  room.  ft  Well, 
I  applaud  such  fairness  and  temperance  in  so  young 
a  critic.  They  are  qualities  —  in  youth  —  as  rare 
as  they  are  pleasing.  But  just  look  at  Schrumpffius, 
for  instance  —  how  he  struggles  and  wrestles  with 
a  simple  yap  in  this  very  passage  here  !  " 

I  peeped  fearfully  through  the  open  door,  half- 
dreading  to  see  some  sinuous  and  snark-like  con- 
flict in  progress  on  the  mat ;  but  all  was  still.  I 
saw  no  trouble  at  all  in  the  passage,  and  I  said  so. 

"  Precisely,"  he  cried,  delighted.  "  To  you, 
who  possess  the  natural  scholar's  faculty  in  so  happy 
a  degree,  there  is  no  difficulty  at  alb  But  to  this 
Schrumpffius  —  "  But  here,  luckily  for  me,  in 
came  the  housekeeper,  a  clean-looking  woman  of 
staid  aspect. 

"*  Your  tea  is  in  the  garden,"  she  said,  severely, 
110 


A  Harvesting 

as  if  she  were  correcting  a  faulty  emendation. 
"  I  've  put  some  cakes  and  things  for  the  little  gen- 
deman ;  and  you  'd  better  drink  it  before  it  gets 
cold." 

He  waved  her  off  and  continued  his  stride, 
brandishing  an  aorist  over  my  devoted  head.  The 
housekeeper  waited  unmoved  till  there  fell  a  mo- 
ment's break  in  his  descant ;  and  then,  "  You  'd 
better  drink  it  before  It  gets  cold,"  she  observed 
again,  impassively.  The  wretched  man  cast  a 
deprecating  look  at  me.  "  Perhaps  a  little  tea 
would  be  rather  nice,"  he  observed,  feebly  ;  and 
to  my  great  relief  he  led  the  way  into  the  garden. 
I  looked  about  for  the  litde  gentleman,  but,  fail- 
ing to  discover  him,  I  concluded  he  was  absent- 
minded  too,  and  attacked  the  "  cakes  and  things  " 
with  no  misgivings. 

After  a  most  successful  and  most  learned  tea  a 
something  happened  which,  small  as  I  was,  never 
quite  shook  itself  out  of  my  memory.  To  us  at 
parley  in  an  arbour  over  the  high  road,  there 
entered,  slouching  into  view,  a  dingy  tramp,  satel- 
lited by  a  frowsy  woman  and  a  pariah  dog ;  and, 
catching  sight  of  us,  he  set  up  his  professional  whine ; 
and  I  looked  at  my  friend  with  the  heartiest  com- 
III 


The  Golden  Age 

passion,  for  I  knew  well  from  Martha  —  it  was 
common  talk  —  that  at  this  time  of  day  he  was 
certainly  and  surely  penniless.  Morn  by  morn 
he  started  forth  with  pockets  lined ;  and  each  re- 
turning evening  found  him  with  never  a  sou.  All 
this  he  proceeded  to  explain  at  length  to  the  tramp, 
courteously  and  even  shamefacedly,  as  one  who 
was  in  the  wrong  ;  and  at  last  the  gentleman  of 
the  road,  realising  the  hopelessness  of  his  case,  set 
to  and  cursed  him  with  gusto,  vocabulary,  and 
abandonment.  He  reviled  his  eyes,  his  features, 
his  limbs,  his  profession,  his  relatives  and  surround- 
ings ;  and  then  slouched  off,  still  oozing  malice  and 
filth.  We  watched  the  party  to  a  turn  in  the 
road,  where  the  woman,  plainly  weary,  came  to 
a  stop.  Her  lord,  after  some  conventional  exple- 
tives demanded  of  him  by  his  position,  relieved 
her  of  her  bundle,  and  caused  her  to  hang  on  his 
arm  with  a  certain  rough  kindness  of  tone,  and  in 
action  even  a  dim  approach  to  tenderness ;  and 
the  dingy  dog  crept  up  for  one  lick  at  her  hand. 

"  See,"  said  my  friend,  bearing  somewhat  on 
my  shoulder,  "  how  this  strange  thing,  this  love 
of  ours,  lives  and  shines  out  in  the  unlikeliest  of 
places !      You  have  been  in    the  fields  in  early 

112 


A   Harvesting 

morning  ?  Barren  acres,  all !  But  only  stoop 
—  catch  the  light  thwartwise  —  and  all  is  a  silver 
network  of  gossamer  !  So  the  fairy  filaments  of 
this  strange  thing  underrun  and  link  together  the 
whole  world.  Yet  it  is  not  the  old  imperious 
god  of  the  fatal  bow  —  epws  aviKare.  /xd^av  —  not 
that — nor  even  the  placid  respectable  crTopyrj  — 
but  something  still  unnamed,  perhaps  more 
mysterious,  more  divine  !  Only  one  must  stoop 
to  see  it,  old  fellow,  one  must  stoop  !  " 

The  dew  was  falling,  the  dusk  closing,  as  I 
trotted  briskly  homewards  down  the  road. 
Lonely  spaces  everywhere,  above  and  around. 
Only  Hesperus  hung  in  the  sky,  solitary,  pure, 
ineffably  far-drawn  and  remote ;  yet  infinitely 
heartening,  somehow,  in  his  valorous  isolation. 


"3 


Snowbound 


"5 


SNOWBOUND 

TWELFTH-NIGHT  had  come  and  gone, 
and  life  next  morning  seemed  a  trifle  flat  and 
purposeless.  But  yester-eve  and  the  mummers 
were  here!  They  had  come  striding  into  the 
old  kitchen,  powdering  the  red  brick  floor  with 
snow  from  their  barbaric  bedizenments ;  and 
stamping,  and  crossing,  and  declaiming,  till  all 
was  whirl  and  riot  and  shout.  Harold  was 
frankly  afraid  :  unabashed,  he  buried  himself  in 
the  cook's  ample  bosom.  Edward  feigned  a 
manly  superiority  to  illusion,  and  greeted  these 
awful  apparitions  familiarly,  as  Dick  and  Harry 
and  Joe.  As  for  me,  I  was  too  big  to  run,  too 
rapt  to  resist  the  magic  and  surprise.  Whence 
came  these  outlanders,  breaking  in  on  us  with 
song  and  ordered  masque  and  a  terrible  clashing 
of  wooden  swords?  And  after  these,  what 
strange  visitants  might  we  not  look  for  any  quiet 
night,  when  the  chestnuts  popped  in  the  ashes, 
117 


The  Golden  Age 

and  the  old  ghost  stories  drew  the  awe-stricken 
circle  close  ?  Old  Merlin,  perhaps,  "all  furred 
in  black  sheep-skins,  and  a  russet  gown,  with  a 
bow  and  arrows,  and  bearing  wild  geese  in  his 
hand ! "  Or  stately  Ogier  the  Dane,  recalled 
from  Faery,  asking  his  way  to  the  land  that  once 
had  need  of  him !  Or  even,  on  some  white 
night,  the  Snow-Queen  herself,  with  a  chime  of 
sleigh-bells  and  the  patter  of  reindeers'  feet,  with 
sudden  halt  at  the  door  flung  wide,  while  aloft 
the  Northern  Lights  went  shaking  attendant 
spears  among  the  quiet  stars ! 

This  morning,  house-bound  by  the  relentless, 
indefatigable  snow,  I  was  feeling  the  reaction. 
Edward,  on  the  contrary,  being  violently  stage- 
struck  on  this  his  first  introduction  to  the  real 
Drama,  was  striding  up  and  down  the  floor, 
proclaiming  "  Here  be  I,  King  Gearge  the 
Third,"  in  a  strong  Berkshire  accent.  Harold, 
accustomed,  as  the  youngest,  to  lonely  antics  and 
to  sports  that  asked  no  sympathy,  was  absorbed 
in  "clubmen":  a  performance  consisting  in  a 
measured  progress  round  the  room  arm-in-arm 
with  an  imaginary  companion  of  reverend  years, 
with  occasional  halts  at  imaginary  clubs,  when5 
nS 


Snowbound 

—  imaginary  steps  being  leisurely  ascended  — 
imaginary  papers  were  glanced  at,  imaginary  scan- 
dal was  discussed  with  elderly  shakings  of  the 
head,  and  —  regrettable  to  say  —  imaginary  glasses 
were  lifted  Upwards.  Heaven  only  knows  how 
the  germ  of  this  dreary  pastime  first  found  way 
into  his  small-boyish  being.  It  was  his  own 
invention,  and  he  was  proportionately  proud  of 
it.  Meanwhile,  Charlotte  and  I,  crouched  in 
the  window-seat,  watched,  spell-stricken,  the 
whirl  and  eddy  and  drive  of  the  innumerable 
snow-flakes,  wrapping  our  cheery  little  world  in 
an  uncanny  uniform,  ghastly  in  line  and  hue. 

Charlotte  was  sadly  out  of  spirits.  Having 
"  countered  "  Miss  Smedley  at  breakfast,  during 
some  argument  or  other,  by  an  apt  quotation 
from  her  favourite  classic  (the  Fairy  Book}  she 
had  been  gently  but  firmly  informed  that  no 
such  things  as  fairies  ever  really  existed.  "  Do 
you  mean  to  say  it 's  all  lies  ?  "  asked  Charlotte, 
bluntly.  Miss  Smedley  deprecated  the  use  of 
any  such  unladylike  words  in  any  connection  at 
all.  "These  stories  had  their  origin,  my  dear," 
she  explained,  "  in  a  mistaken  anthropomorphism 
in  the  interpretation  of  nature.  But  though  we 
119 


The  Golden  Age 

are  now  too  well  informed  to  fall  into  similar 
errors,  there  are  still  many  beautiful  lessons  to 
be  learned  from  these  myths —  " 

"  But  how  can  you  learn  anything,"  persisted 
Charlotte,  "  from  what  does  n't  exist  ? "  And  she 
left  the  table  defiant,  howbeit  depressed. 

"Don't  you  mind  her"  I  said,  consolingly; 
"  how  can  she  know  anything  about  it  ?  Why, 
she  can't  even  throw  a  stone  properly  !  " 

"  Edward  says  they  're  all  rot,  too,"  replied 
Charlotte,  doubtfully. 

"  Edward  says  everything  's  rot,"  I  explained, 
"  now  he  thinks  he  's  going  into  the  Army.  If 
a  thing  's  in  a  book  it  must  be  true,  so  that  settles 
it!" 

Charlotte  looked  almost  reassured.  The  room 
was  quieter  now,  for  Edward  had  got  the  dragon 
down  and  was  boring  holes  in  him  with  a  purring 
sound ;  Harold  was  ascending  the  steps  of  the 
Athenaeum  with  a  jaunty  air  —  suggestive  rather 
of  the  Junior  Carlton.  Outside,  the  tall  elm-tops 
were  hardly  to  be  seen  through  the  feathery  storm. 
"  The  sky  's  a-falling,"  quoted  Charlotte,  softly  ; 
"I  must  go  and  tell  the  king."  The  quotation 
suggested  a  fairy  story,  and  I  offered  to  read  to  her, 
1 20 


Snowbound 

reaching  out  for  the  book.  But  the  Wee  Folk 
were  under  a  cloud  ;  sceptical  hints  had  embittered 
the  chalice.  So  I  was  fain  to  fetch  Arthur  — 
second  favourite  with  Charlotte  for  his  dames  rid- 
ing errant,  and  an  easy  first  with  us  boys  for  his 
spear-splintering  crash  of  tourney  and  hurde  against 
hopeless  odds.  Here  again,  however,  I  proved 
unfortunate,  —  what  ill-luck  made  the  book  open  at 
the  sorrowful  history  of  Balin  and  Balan  ?  "  And 
he  vanished  anon,"  I  read  :  "  and  so  he  heard  an 
home  blow,  as  it  had  been  the  death  of  a  beast. 
'  That  blast,'  said  Balin,  '  is  blowen  for  me,  for  I 
am  the  prize,  and  yet  am  I  not  dead.'  "  Charlotte 
began  to  cry  :  she  knew  the  rest  too  well.  I  shut 
the  book  in  despair.  Harold  emerged  from  be- 
hind the  arm-chair.  He  was  sucking  his  thumb 
(a  thing  which  members  of  the  Reform  are  seldom 
seen  to  do),  and  he  stared  wide-eyed  at  his  tear- 
stained  sister.  Edward  put  off  his  histrionics,  and 
rushed  up  to  her  as  the  consoler  —  a  new  part  for 
him. 

"  I  know  a  jolly  story,"  he  began.     "Aunt  Eliza 

told   it  me.      It  was  when  she  was  somewhere 

over  in  that  beastly  abroad  "  —  (he  had  once  spent 

a  black  month  of  misery  at  Dinan)  —  "  and  there 

izl 


The  Golden  Age 

was  a  fellow  there  who  had  got  two  storks.  And 
one  stork  died  —  it  was  the  she-stork."  (««  What 
did  it  die  of?  "  put  in  Harold.)  "  And  the  other 
stork  was  quite  sorry,  and  moped,  and  went  on, 
and  got  very  miserable.  So  they  looked  about 
and  found  a  duck,  and  introduced  it  to  the  stork. 
The  duck  was  a  drake,  but  the  stork  did  n't  mind, 
and  they  loved  each  other  and  were  as  jolly  as 
could  be.  By  and  by  another  duck  came  along, 
—  a  real  she-duck  this  time,  — and  when  the  drake 
saw  her  he  fell  in  love,  and  left  the  stork,  and 
went  and  proposed  to  the  duck  :  for  she  was  very 
beautiful.  But  the  poor  stork  who  was  left,  he 
said  nothing  at  all  to  anybody,  but  just  pined  and 
pined  and  pined  away,  till  one  morning  he  was 
found  quite  dead !  But  the  ducks  lived  happily 
ever  afterwards !  " 

This  was  Edward's  idea  of  a  jolly  story  !  Down 
again  went  the  corners  of  poor  Charlotte's  mouth. 
Really  Edward's  stupid  inability  to  see  the  real 
point  in  anything  was  too  annoying !  It  was 
always  so.  Years  before,  it  being  necessary  to 
prepare  his  youthful  mind  for  a  domestic  event 
that  might  lead  to  awkward  questionings  at  a  time 
vhen  there  was  little  leisure  to  invent  appropriate 

122 


Snowbound 

answers,  it  was  delicately  inquired  of  him  whether 
he  would  like  to  have  a  litde  brother,  or  perhaps 
a  little  sister  ?  He  considered  the  matter  carefully 
in  all  its  bearings,  and  finally  declared  for  a  New- 
foundland pup.  Any  boy  more  "  gleg  at  the 
uptak  "  would  have  met  his  parents  half-way,  and 
eased  their  burden.  As  it  was,  the  matter  had  to 
be  approached  all  over  again  from  a  fresh  stand- 
point. And  now,  while  Charlotte  turned  away 
sniffingly,  with  a  hiccough  that  told  of  an  over- 
wrought soul,  Edward,  unconscious  (like  Sir 
Isaac's  Diamond)  of  the  mischief  he  had  done, 
wheeled  round  on  Harold  with  a  shout. 

"  I  want  a  live  dragon,"  he  announced :  "you  Ve 
got  to  be  my  dragon  !  " 

"  Leave  me  go,  will  you  ? "  squealed  Harold, 
struggling  stoutly.  **  I  'm  playin'  at  something 
else.  How  can  I  be  a  dragon  and  belong  to  all 
the  clubs  ? " 

"  But  would  n't  you  like  to  be  a  nice  scaly 
dragon,  all  green,"  said  Edward,  trying  persuasion, 
"  with  a  curly  tail  and  red  eyes,  and  breathing 
real  smoke  and  fire  ?  " 

Harold  wavered  an  instant :  Pall-Mall  was  still 
strong  in  him.  The  next  he  was  grovelling  on 
I23 


The  Golden  Age 

the  floor.  No  saurian  ever  swung  a  tail  so  scaly 
and  so  curly  as  his.  Clubland  was  a  thousand 
years  away.  With  horrific  pants  he  emitted  smok- 
iest smoke  and  fiercest  fire. 

"  Now  I  want  a  Princess,"  cried  Edward, 
clutching  Charlotte  ecstatically;  "and  you  can  be 
the  doctor,  and  heal  me  from  the  dragon's  deadly 
wound." 

Of  all  professions  I  held  the  sacred  art  of  heal- 
ing in  worst  horror  and  contempt.  Cataclysmal 
memories  of  purge  and  draught  crowded  thick  on 
me,  and  with  Charlotte  —  who  courted  no  barren 
honours  —  I  made  a  break  for  the  door.  Edward 
did  likewise,  and  the  hostile  forces  clashed  together 
on  the  mat,  and  for  a  brief  space  things  were 
mixed  and  chaotic  and  Arthurian.  The  silvery 
sound  of  the  luncheon-bell  restored  an  instant  peace, 
even  in  the  teeth  of  clenched  antagonisms  like  ours. 
The  Holy  Grail  itself,  u  sliding  athwart  a  sun- 
beam," never  so  effectually  stilled  a  riot  of  warring 
passions  into  sweet  and  quiet  accord. 


24 


What  they  Talked  About 


125 


WHAT  THEY  TALKED  ABOUT 

EDWARD  was  standing  ginger-beer  like  a  gen- 
tleman, happening,  as  the  one  that  had  last 
passed  under  the  dentist's  hands,  to  be  the  capital- 
ist of  the  flying  hour.  As  in  all  well-regulated 
families,  the  usual  tariff"  obtained  in  ours,  —  half-a- 
crown  a  tooth  ;  one  shilling  only  if  the  molar 
were  a  loose  one.  This  one,  unfortunately  —  in 
spite  of  Edward's  interested  affectation  of  agony  — 
had  been  shaky  undisguised  ;  but  the  event  was 
good  enough  to  run  to  ginger-beer.  As  financier, 
however,  Edward  had  claimed  exemption  from  any 
servile  duties  of  procurement,  and  had  swaggered 
about  the  garden  while  I  fetched  from  the  village 
post-office,  and  Harold  stole  a  tumbler  from  the 
pantry.  Our  preparations  complete,  we  were 
sprawling  on  the  lawn  ;  the  staidest  and  most  self- 
respecting  of  the  rabbits  had  been  let  loose  to  grace 
the  feast,  and  was  lopping  demurely  about  the  grass, 
selecting  the  juiciest  plantains ;  while  Selina,  as 
127 


The  Golden  Age 

the  eldest  lady  present,  was  toying,  in  her  affected 
feminine  way,  with  the  first  fall  tumbler,  daintily 
fishing  for  bits  of  broken  cork. 

"Hurry  up,  can't  you?"  growled  our  host; 
"  what  are  you  girls  always  so  beastly  particular 
for  ?  " 

"  Martha  says,"  explained  Harold  (thirsty  too, 
but  still  just),  "  that  if  you  swallow  a  bit  of  cork, 
it  swells,  and  it  swells,  and  it  swells  inside  you, 
till  you  —  " 

"O  bosh!"  said  Edward,  draining  the  glass 
with  a  fine  pretence  of  indifference  to  conse- 
quences, but  all  the  same  (as  I  noticed)  dodg- 
ing the  floating  cork-fragments  with  skill  and 
judgment. 

"  O,  it 's  all  very  well  to  say  bosh,"  replied 
Harold,  nettled  ;  "  but  every  one  knows  it 's  true 
but  you.  Why,  when  Uncle  Thomas  was  here 
last,  and  they  got  up  a  bottle  of  wine  for  him,  he 
took  just  one  tiny  sip  out  of  his  glass,  and  then 
he  said,  '  Poo,  my  goodness,  that 's  corked  ! ' 
And  he  would  n't  touch  it.  And  they  had  to  get 
a  fresh  bottle  up.  The  funny  part  was,  though, 
I  looked  in  his  glass  afterwards,  when  it  was 
brought  out  into  the  passage,  and  there  was  n't 
128 


What  they  Talked  About 

any  cork  in  it  at  all !  So  I  drank  it  all  off,  and 
it  was  very  good  !  " 

"  You  'd  better  be  careful,  young  man !  "  said  his 
elder  brother,  regarding  him  severely.  "D'you 
remember  that  night  when  the  Mummers  were 
here,  and  they  had  mulled  port,  and  you  went 
round  and  emptied  all  the  glasses  after  they  had 
gone  away  ?  " 

"  Ow  !  I  did  feel  funny  that  night,"  chuckled 
Harold.  "  Thought  the  house  was  comin'  down, 
it  jumped  about  so ;  and  Martha  had  to  carry  me 
up  to  bed,  'cos  the  stairs  was  goin'  all  waggity  !  " 

We  gazed  searchingly  at  our  graceless  junior ; 
but  it  was  clear  that  he  viewed  the  matter  in 
the  light  of  a  phenomenon  rather  than  of  a 
delinquency. 

A  third  bottle  was  by  this  time  circling  ;  and 
Selina,  who  had  evidently  waited  for  it  to  reach 
her,  took  a  most  unfairly  long  pull,  and  then  jump- 
ing up  and  shaking  out  her  frock,  announced  that 
she  was  going  for  a  walk.  Then  she  fled  like  a 
hare  ;  for  it  was  the  custom  of  our  Family  to 
meet  with  physical  coercion  any  independence  of 
action  in  individuals. 

**  She's  off  with  those  Vicarage  girls  again," 
i  29 


The  Golden  Age 

said  Edward,  regarding  Selina's  long  black  legs 
twinkling  down  the  path.  "  She  goes  out  with 
them  every  day  now  ;  and  as  soon  as  ever  they 
start,  all  their  heads  go  together  and  they  chatter, 
chatter,  chatter  the  whole  blessed  time  !  I  can't 
make  out  what  they  find  to  talk  about.  They 
never  stop ;  it  's  gabble,  gabble,  gabble  right 
along,  like  a  nest  of  young  rooks ! " 

"P'raps  they  talk  about  birds'-eggs,"  I  sug- 
gested sleepily  (the  sun  was  hot,  the  turf  soft, 
the  ginger-beer  potent)  ;  "  and  about  ships,  and 
buffaloes,  and  desert  islands ;  and  why  rabbits 
have  white  tails ;  and  whether  they  'd  sooner 
have  a  schooner  or  a  cutter ;  and  what  they  '11 
be  when  they  're  men  —  at  least,  I  mean  there  's 
lots  of  things  to  talk  about,  if  you  want  to  talk." 

"  Yes ;  but  they  don't  talk  about  those  sort 
of  things  at  all,"  persisted  Edward.  "  How  can 
they  ?  They  don't  know  anything  ;  they  can't 
do  anything  —  except  play  the  piano,  and  nobody 
would  want  to  talk  about  that ;  and  they  don't 
care  about  anything  —  anytning  sensible,  I  mean. 
So  what  do  they  talk  about  ?  " 

"  I  asked  Martha  once,"  put  in  Harold ;  "  and 
she  said,  '  Never  you  mind ;  young  ladies  has 
130 


What  they  Talked  About 

lots  of  things  to  talk  about  that  young  gentlemen 
can't  understand.'  " 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  Edward  growled. 

"Well,  that's  what  she  said,  anyway,"  re- 
joined Harold,  indifferently.  The  subject  did 
not  seem  to  him  of  first-class  importance,  and  it 
was  hindering  the  circulation  of  the  ginger-beer. 

We  beard  the  click  of  the  front-gate.  Through 
a  gap  in  the  hedge  we  could  see  the  party  setting 
off  down  the  road.  Selina  was  in  the  middle : 
a  Vicarage  girl  had  her  by  either  arm ;  their 
heads  were  together,  as  Edward  had  described  ; 
and  the  clack  of  their  tongues  came  down  the 
breeze  like  the  busy  pipe  of  starlings  on  a  bright 
March  morning. 

"  What  do  they  talk  about,  Charlotte  ? "  I 
inquired,  wishing  to  pacify  Edward.  "You  go 
out  with  them  sometimes." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  poor  Charlotte,  dole- 
fully. "They  make  me  walk  behind,  'cos 
they  say  I  'm  too  little,  and  must  n't  hear.  And 
I  do  want  to  so,"  she  added. 

"  When  any  lady  comes  to  see  Aunt  Eliza," 
said  Harold,  "  they  both  talk  at  once  all  the 
time.  And  yet  each  of  'em  seems  to  hear  what 
131 


The  Golden  Age 

the  other  one  's  saying.  I  can't  make  out  how 
they  do  it.      Grown-up  people  are  so  clever!" 

"  The  Curate  's  the  funniest  man,"  I  remarked. 
"  He  's  always  saying  things  that  have  no  sense 
in  them  at  all,  and  then  laughing  at  them  as  if 
they  were  jokes.  Yesterday,  when  they  asked  him 
if  he  'd  have  some  more  tea,  he  said,  '  Once  more 
unto  the  breach,  dear  friends,  once  more,'  and 
then  sniggered  all  over.  I  did  n't  see  anything 
funny  in  that.  And  then  somebody  asked  him 
about  his  buttonhole,  and  he  said,  '  'T  is  but  a 
little  faded  flower,'  and  exploded  again.  I  thought 
it  very  stupid." 

"  O  him"  said  Edward,  contemptuously  :  "  he 
can't  help  it,  you  know  ;  it 's  a  sort  of  way  he  's 
got.  But  it 's  these  girls  I  can't  make  out.  If 
they  've  anything  really  sensible  to  talk  about, 
how  is  it  nobody  knows  what  it  is  ?  And  if 
they  haven't — and  we  know  they  can't  have, 
naturally  —  why  don't  they  shut  up  their  jaw  ? 
This  old  rabbit  here  —  be  does  n't  want  to  talk. 
He  's  got  something  better  to  do."  And  Edward 
aimed  a  ginger-beer  cork  at  the  unruffled  beast, 
who  never  budged. 

"  O  but  rabbits  do  talk,"  interposed  Harold. 
152 


What  they  Talked  About 

'*  I  've  watched  them  often  in  their  hutch.  They 
put  their  heads  together  and  their  noses  go  up 
and  down,  just  like  Selina's  and  the  Vicarage 
girls'.  Only  of  course  I  can't  hear  what  they  're 
saying." 

"  Well,  if  they  do,"  said  Edward,  unwillingly, 
"  I  '11  bet  they  don't  talk  such  rot  as  those  girls 
do  !  "  —  which  was  ungenerous,  as  well  as  unfair; 
for  it  had  not  yet  transpired  —  nor  has  it  to  this 
day — what  Selina  and  her  friends  talked  about. 


'33 


The  Argonauts 


'35 


THE    ARGONAUTS 

THE  advent  of  strangers,  of  whatever  sort,  into 
our  circle,  had  always  been  a  matter  of  grave 
dubiety  and  suspicion ;  indeed,  it  was  generally  a 
signal  for  retreat  into  caves  and  fastnesses  of  the 
earth,  into  unthreaded  copses  or  remote  outlying 
cowsheds,  whence  we  were  only  to  be  extricated 
by  wily  nursemaids,  rendered  familiar  by  experi- 
ence with  our  secret  runs  and  refuges.  It  was 
not  surprising,  therefore,  that  the  heroes  of  classic 
legend,  when  first  we  made  their  acquaintance, 
failed  to  win  our  entire  svmpathv  at  once.  "  Con- 
fidence," says  somebodv,  "is  a  plant  of  slow 
growth  ;  "  and  these  stately  dark-haired  demi-gods, 
with  names  hard  to  master  and  strange  accoutre- 
ments, had  to  win  a  citadel  already  strongly  gar- 
risoned with  a  more  familiar  soldierv.  Their  chill 
foreign  goddesses  had  no  such  direct  appeal  for  us 
as  the  mocking  malicious  fairies  and  witches  of 
the  North  ;  we  missed  the  pleasant  alliance  of  the 


The  Golden  Age 

animal  —  the  fox  who  spread  the  bushiest  of  tails 
to  convey  us  to  the  enchanted  castle,  the  frog  in 
the  well,  the  raven  who  croaked  advice  from  the 
tree  ;  and  —  to  Harold  especially  —  it  seemed 
entirely  wrong  that  the  hero  should  ever  be  other 
than  the  youngest  brother  of  three.  This  belief, 
indeed,  in  the  special  fortune  that  ever  awaited 
the  youngest  brother,  as  such,  —  the  "  Borough- 
English"  of  Faery,  —  had  been  of  baleful  effect 
on  Harold,  producing  a  certain  self-conceit  and 
perkiness  that  called  for  physical  correction.  But 
even  in  our  admonishment  we  were  on  his  side ; 
and  as  we  distrustfully  eyed  these  new  arrivals,  old 
Saturn  himself  seemed  something  of  a  parvenu. 

Even  strangers,  however,  if  they  be  good  fel- 
lows at  heart,  may  develop  into  sworn  comrades ; 
and  these  gay  swordsmen,  after  all,  were  of  the 
right  stuff.  Perseus,  with  his  cap  of  darkness  and 
his  wonderful  sandals,  was  not  long  in  winging 
his  way  to  our  hearts ;  Apollo  knocked  at  Adme- 
tus'  gate  in  something  of  the  right  fairy  fashion ; 
Psyche  brought  with  her  an  orthodox  palace 
of  magic,  as  well  as  helpful  birds  and  friendly 
ants.  Ulysses,  with  his  captivating  shifts  and 
strategies,  broke  down  the  final  barrier,  and  hence- 
138 


The  Argonauts 

forth  the  band  was  adopted  and  admitted  into  our 
freemasonry. 

I  had  been  engaged  in  chasing  Farmer  Larkin's 
calves  —  his  special  pride  —  round  the  field,  just 
to  show  the  man  we  had  n't  forgotten  him,  and 
was  returning  through  the  kitchen-garden  with  a 
conscience  at  peace  with  all  men,  when  I  hap- 
pened upon  Edward,  grubbing  for  worms  in  the 
dung-heap.  Edward  put  his  worms  into  his  hat, 
and  we  strolled  along  together,  discussing  high 
matters  of  state.  As  we  reached  the  tool-shed, 
strange  noises  arrested  our  steps ;  looking  in,  we 
perceived  Harold,  alone,  rapt,  absorbed,  immersed 
in  the  special  game  of  the  moment.  He  was 
squatting  in  an  old  pig-trough  that  had  been  brought 
in  to  be  tinkered  ;  and  as  he  rhapsodised,  anon 
he  waved  a  shovel  over  his  head,  anon  dug  it  into 
the  ground  with  the  action  of  those  who  would 
urge  Canadian  canoes.  Edward  strode  in  upon 
him. 

"  What  rot  are  you  playing  at  now  ? "  he  de- 
manded sternly. 

Harold  flushed  up,  but  stuck  to  his  pig-trough 
like  a  man.  "  I  'm  Jason,"  he  replied,  defiantlv  ; 
"  and  this  is  the  Argo.      The  other  fellows  are 

*39 


The  Golden  Age 

here  too,  only  you  can't  see  them  ;  and  we  're 
just  going  through  the  Hellespont,  so  don't  you 
come  bothering."  And  once  more  he  plied  the 
wine-dark  sea. 

Edward  kicked  the  pig-trough  contemptuously. 
*'  Pretty  sort  of  Argo  you  've  got !  "  said  he. 

Harold  began  to  get  annoyed.  "  I  can't  help 
it,"  he  replied.  "  It 's  the  best  sort  of  Argo  I 
can  manage,  and  it 's  all  right  if  you  only  pre- 
tend enough  ;  but  you  never  could  pretend  one 
bit." 

Edward  reflected.  "  Look  here,"  he  said  pres- 
ently ;  "  v/hy  should  n't  we  get  hold  of  Farmer 
Larkin's  boat,  and  go  right  away  up  the  river  in  a 
real  Argo,  and  look  for  Medea,  and  the  Golden 
Fleece,  and  everything  ?  And  I  '11  tell  you  what, 
I  don't  mind  your  being  Jason,  as  you  thought  of 
it  first." 

Harold  tumbled  out  of  the  trough  in  the  excess 
of  his  emotion.  "But  we  aren't  allowed  to  go 
on  the  water  by  ourselves,"  he  cried. 

"  No,"  said  Edward,  with  fine  scorn  :  "  we 
are  n't  allowed  ;  and  Jason  was  n't  allowed  either, 
I  daresay  —  but  he  went  !  " 

Harold's  protest  had  been  merely  conventional : 
140 


The  Argonauts 

he  only  wanted  to  be  convinced  by  sound  argu- 
ment. The  next  question  was,  How  about  the 
girls  ?  Selina  was  distinctly  handy  in  a  boat :  the 
difficulty  about  her  was,  that  if  she  disapproved 
of  the  expedition  —  and,  morally  considered,  it 
was  not  exacdy  a  Pilgrim's  Progress  —  she  might 
go  and  tell ;  she  having  just  reached  that  dis- 
agreeable age  when  one  begins  to  develop  a  con- 
science. Charlotte,  for  her  part,  had  a  habit  of 
day-dreams,  and  was  as  likely  as  not  to  fall  over- 
board in  one  of  her  rapt  musings.  To  be  sure, 
she  would  dissolve  in  tears  when  she  found  her- 
self left  out ;  but  even  that  was  better  than  a  watery 
tomb.  In  fine,  the  public  voice  —  and  rightlv, 
perhaps —  was  against  the  admission  of  the  skirted 
animal :  spite  the  precedent  of  Atalanta,  who  was 
one  of  the  original  crew. 

"  And  now,"  said  Edward,  "  who 's  to  ask 
Farmer  Larkin  ?  /  can't ;  last  time  I  saw  him  he 
said  when  he  caught  me  again  he'd  smack  my 
head.       You  ' 7/  have  to." 

I  hesitated,  tor  good  reasons,  You  know 
those  precious  calves  of  his  \  "  I  began. 

Ed  war  d  understood  at  once.  "All  right,"  he 
said;  "  ther  we  won't  ask  him  ai  ah.  It  does  n't 
141 


The  Golden  Age 

much  matter.  He  'd  only  be  annoyed,  and  that 
would  be  a  pity.      Now  let's  set  off." 

We  made  our  way  down  to  the  stream,  and  cap- 
tured the  farmer's  boat  without  let  or  hindrance, 
the  enemy  being  engaged  in  the  hayfields.  This 
"  river,"  so  called,  could  never  be  discovered  by 
us  in  any  atlas ;  indeed  our  Argo  could  hardly  turn 
in  it  without  risk  of  shipwreck.  But  to  us  'twas 
Orinoco,  and  the  cities  of  the  world  dotted  its 
shores.  We  put  the  Argo's  head  up  stream,  since 
that  led  away  from  the  Larkin  province  ;  Harold 
was  faithfully  permitted  to  be  Jason,  and  we  shared 
the  rest  of  the  heroes  among  us.  Then  launching 
forth  from  Thessaly,  we  threaded  the  Hellespont 
with  shouts,  breathlessly  dodged  the  Clashing  Rocks, 
and  coasted  under  the  lee  of  the  Siren-haunted  isles. 
Lemnos  was  fringed  with  meadow-sweet,  dog-roses 
dotted  the  Mysian  shore,  and  the  cheery  call  of  the 
haymaking  folk  sounded  along  the  coast  of  Thrace. 

After  some  hour  or  two's  seafaring,  the  prow  of 
the  Argo  embedded  itself  in  the  mud  of  a  landing- 
place,  plashy  with  the  tread  of  cows  and  giving 
on  to  a  lane  that  led  towards  the  smoke  of  human 
habitations.  Edward  jumped  ashore,  alert  for  ex- 
ploration, and  strode  off  without  waiting  to  see  if 
142 


The  Argonauts 

we  followed  ;  but  I  lingered  behind,  having  caught 
sight  of  a  moss-grown  water-gate  hard  by,  leading 
into  a  garden  that  from  the  brooding  quiet  lapping 
it  round,  appeared  to  portend  magical  possibilities. 

Indeed  the  very  air  within  seemed  stiller,  as  we 
circumspectly  passed  through  the  gate  ;  and  Harold 
hung  back  shamefaced,  as  if  we  were  crossing  the 
threshold  of  some  private  chamber,  and  ghosts  of 
old  days  were  hustling  past  us.  Flowers  there 
were,  everywhere  ;  but  they  drooped  and  sprawled 
in  an  overgrowth  hinting  at  indifference  ;  the  scent 
of  heliotrope  possessed  the  place,  as  if  actually  hung 
in  solid  festoons  from  tall  untrimmed  hedge  to 
hedge.  No  basket-chairs,  shawls,  or  novels  dotted 
the  lawn  with  colour ;  and  on  the  garden-front  of 
the  house  behind,  the  blinds  were  mostly  drawn. 
A  grey  old  sun-dial  dominated  the  central  sward, 
and  we  moved  towards  it  instinctively,  as  the  most 
human  thing  visible.  An  antique  motto  ran  round 
it,  and  with  eyes  and  fingers  we  struggled  at  the 
decipherment. 

"  Time  :  tryeth  :  trothe  :  "  spelt  out  Harold 
at  last.      "  I  wonder  what  that  means?  " 

I  could  not  enlighten  him,  nor  meet  his  further 
questions  as  to  the  inner  mechanism  of  the  thing, 
H3 


The  Golden  Age 

and  where  you  wound  it  up.  I  had  seen  these 
instruments  before,  of  course,  but  had  never  fully 
understood  their  manner  of  working. 

We  were  still  puzzling  our  heads  over  the  con- 
trivance, when  I  became  aware  that  Medea  her- 
self was  moving  down  the  path  from  the  house. 
Dark-haired,  supple,  of  a  figure  lightly  poised  and 
swayed,  but  pale  and  listless  —  I  knew  her  at  once, 
and  having  come  out  to  find  her,  naturally  felt  no 
surprise  at  all.  But  Harold,  who  was  trying  to 
climb  on  the  top  of  the  sun-dial,  having  a  cat-like 
fondness  for  the  summit  of  things,  started  and  fell 
prone,  barking  his  chin  and  filling  the  pleasance 
with  lamentation. 

Medea  skimmed  the  ground  swallow-like,  and 
in  a  moment  was  on  her  knees  comforting  him, 
—  wiping  the  dirt  out  of  his  chin  with  her  own 
dainty  handkerchief, — and  vocal  with  soft  mur- 
mur of  consolation. 

"You  needn't  take  on  so  about  him,"  I 
observed,  politely.  "  He  '11  cry  for  just  one  min- 
ute, and  then  he'll  be  all  right." 

My  estimate  was  justified.  At  the  end  of  his 
regulation  time  Harold  stopped  crying  suddenly, 
like  a  clock  that  had  struck  its  hour ;  and  with 
144 


The  Argonauts 

a  serene  and  cheerful  countenance  wriggled  out 
of  Medea's  embrace,  and  ran  for  a  stone  to 
throw  at  an  intrusive  blackbird. 

"  O  you  boys !  "  cried  Medea,  throwing  wide 
her  arms  with  abandonment.  "Where  have  you 
dropped  from  ?  How  dirty  you  are !  I  've 
been  shut  up  here  for  a  thousand  years,  and  all 
that  time  I  've  never  seen  any  one  under  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty  !  Let 's  play  at  something,  at 
once  ! " 

"  Rounders  is  a  good  game,"  I  suggested. 
"  Girls  can  play  at  rounders.  And  we  could 
serve  up  to  the  sun-dial  here.  But  you  want  a 
bat  and  a  ball,  and  some  more  people." 

She  struck  her  hands  together  tragically.  "  I 
haven't  a  bat,"  she  cried,  "or  a  ball,  or  more 
people,  or  anything  sensible  whatever.  Never 
mind  ;  let 's  play  at  hide-and-seek  in  the  kitchen 
garden.  And  we  '11  race  there,  up  to  that 
walnut-tree  ;   I  have  n't  run  for  a  century  !  " 

She  was  so  easy  a  victor,  nevertheless,  that  I 
began  to  doubt,  as  I  panted  behind,  whether  she 
had  not  exaggerated  her  age  by  a  year  or  two. 
She  flung  herself  into  hide-and-seek  with  all  the 
gusto  and  abandonment  of  the  true  artist ;  and  as 
H5 


The  Golden  Age 

she  flitted  away  ana  reappeared,  flushed  and 
laughing  divinely,  the  pale  witch-maiden  seemed 
to  fall  away  from  her,  and  she  moved  rather  as 
that  other  girl  I  had  read  about,  snatched  from 
fields  of  daffodil  to  reign  in  shadow  below,  yet 
permitted  once  again  to  visit  earth,  and  light,  and 
the  frank,  caressing  air. 

Tired  at  last,  we  strolled  back  to  the  old  sun- 
dial, and  Harold,  who  never  relinquished  a 
problem  unsolved,  began  afresh,  rubbing  his 
finger  along  the  faint  incisions,  "  Time  tryetb 
trothe.  Please,  I  want  to  know  what  that 
means." 

Medea's  face  drooped  low  over  the  sun-dial, 
till  it  was  almost  hidden  in  her  fingers.  "That's 
what  I  'm  here  for,"  she  said  presently,  in  quite 
a  changed,  low  voice.      "  They  shut  me  up  here 

—  they  think  I'll  forget  —  but  I  never  will  — 
never,  never!      And  he,  too  —  but  I  don't  know 

—  it  is  so  long  —  I  don't  know  !  " 

Her  face  was  quite  hidden  now.  There  was 
silence  again  in  the  old  garden.  I  felt  clumsily 
helpless  and  awkward  ;  beyond  a  vague  idea  of 
kicking  Harold,  nothing  remedial  seemed  to 
suggest  itself. 

146 


The  Argonauts 

None  of  us  had  noticed  the  approach  of 
another  she-creature — one  of  the  angular  and 
rigid  class  —  how  different  from  our  dear  com- 
rade !  The  years  Medea  had  claimed  might 
well  have  belonged  to  her ;  she  wore  mittens, 
too  —  a  trick  I  detested  in  woman.  "Lucy!" 
she  said,  sharply,  in  a  tone  with  aunt  writ  large 
over  it ;  and  Medea  started  up  guiltily. 

'"'You've  been  crying,"  said  the  newcomer, 
grimly  regarding  her  through  spectacles.  "And 
pray  who  are  these  exceedingly  dirty  little  boys?" 

"  Friends  ofmine,  aunt,"  said  Medea, promptly, 
with  forced  cheerfulness.  "I  —  I  've  known  them 
a  long  time.      I  asked  them  to  come." 

The  aunt  sniffed  suspiciously.  "  You  must 
come  indoors,  dear,"  she  said,  "  and  lie  down. 
The  sun  will  give  you  a  headache.  And  you 
little  boys  had  better  run  away  home  to  your  tea. 
Remember,  you  should  not  come  to  pay  visits 
without  your  nursemaid." 

Harold  had  been  tugging  nervously  at  my  jacket 
for  some  time,  and  I  only  waited  till  Medea 
turned  and  kissed  a  white  hand  to  us  as  she  was 
led  away.  Then  1  ran.  We  gained  the  boat  in 
safety ;  and  "  What  an  old  dragon  !  "  said  Harold. 
H7 


The  Golden  Age 

"Was  n't  she  a  beast '  "  I  replied.  '  <  Fancy 
the  sun  giving  any  one  a  headache  !  But  Medea 
was  a  real  brick.      Couldn't  we  carry  her  off?" 

"We  could  if  Edward  was  here,"  said  Harold, 
confidently. 

The  question  was,  What  had  become  of  that 
defaulting  hero  ?  We  were  not  left  long  in 
doubt.  First,  there  came  down  the  lane  the 
shrill  and  wrathful  clamour  of  a  female  tongue, 
then  Edward,  running  his  best,  and  then  an 
excited  woman  hard  on  his  heel.  Edward 
tumbled  into  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  gasping, 
"  Shove  her  off!"  And  shove  her  off  we  did, 
mightily,  while  the  dame  abused  us  from  the 
bank  in  the  self-same  accents  in  which  Alfred 
hurled  defiance  at  the  marauding  Dane. 

"  That  was  just  like  a  bit  out  of  Westward 
Ho  !  "  I  remarked  approvingly,  as  we  sculled 
down  the  stream.  "  But  what  had  you  been 
doing  to  her  ?  " 

"  Had  n't  been  doing  anything,"  panted 
Edward,  still  breathless.  "  I  went  up  into  the 
village  and  explored,  and  it  was  a  very  nice  one, 
and  the  people  were  very  polite.  And  there 
was  a  blacksmith's  forge  there,  and  they  were 
148 


The  Argonauts 

shoeing  horses,  and  the  hoofs  fizzled  and  smoked, 
and  smelt  so  jolly  !  I  stayed  there  quite  a  long 
time.  Then  I  got  thirsty,  so  I  asked  that  old 
woman  for  some  water,  and  while  she  was  get- 
ting it  her  cat  came  out  of  the  cottage,  and  looked 
at  me  in  a  nasty  sort  of  way,  and  said  something 
I  didn't  like.  So  I  went  up  to  it  just  to  —  to 
teach  it  manners,  and  somehow  or  other,  next 
minute  it  was  up  an  apple-tree,  spitting,  and  I 
was  running  down  the  lane  with  that  old  thing 
after  me." 

Edward  was  so  full  of  his  personal  injuries 
that  there  was  no  interesting  him  in  Medea  at 
all.  Moreover,  the  evening  was  closing  in,  and 
it  was  evident  that  this  cutting-out  expedition 
must  be  kept  for  another  day.  As  we  neared 
home,  it  gradually  occurred  to  us  that  perhaps 
the  greatest  danger  was  yet  to  come ;  lor  the 
farmer  must  have  missed  his  boat  ere  now,  and 
would  probably  be  lying  in  wait  for  us  near  the 
landing-place.  There  was  no  other  spot  admit- 
ting of  debarcation  on  the  home  side  ;  if  we  got 
out  on  the  other,  and  made  for  the  bridge,  we 
should  certainly  be  seen  and  cut  off".  Then  it 
was  that  I  blessed  my  stars  that  our  elder  brother 
149 


The  Golden  Age 

was  with  us  that  day,  —  he  might  be  little  good 
at  pretending,  but  in  grappling  with  the  stern 
facts  of  life  he  had  no  equal.  Enjoining  silence, 
he  waited  till  we  were  but  a  little  way  from  the 
fated  landing-place,  and  then  brought  us  in  to 
the  opposite  bank.  We  scrambled  out  noise- 
lessly, and  —  the  gathering  darkness  favouring  us 
—  crouched  behind  a  willow,  while  Edward 
pushed  off  the  empty  boat  with  his  foot.  The 
old  Argo,  borne  down  by  the  gentle  current, 
slid  and  grazed  along  the  rushy  bank  ;  and  when 
she  came  opposite  the  suspected  ambush,  a  stream 
of  imprecation  told  us  that  our  precaution  had 
not  been  wasted.  We  wondered,  as  we  listened, 
where  Farmer  Larkin,  who  was  bucolically  bred 
and  reared,  had  acquired  such  range  and  wealth 
of  vocabulary.  Fully  realising  at  last  that  his 
boat  was  derelict,  abandoned,  at  the  mercy  of 
wind  and  wave,  —  as  well  as  out  of  his  reach,  — 
he  strode  away  to  the  bridge,  about  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  further  down  ;  and  as  soon  as  we  heard 
his  boots  clumping  on  the  planks,  we  nipped  out, 
recovered  the  craft,  pulled  across,  and  made  the 
faithful  vessel  fast  to  her  proper  moorings.  Ed- 
ward was  anxious  to  wait  and  exchange  cour- 
150 


The  Argonauts 

tesies  and  compliments  with  the  disappointed 
farmer,  when  he  should  confront  us  on  the  oppo- 
site bank  ;  but  wiser  counsels  prevailed.  It  was 
possible  that  the  piracy  was  not  yet  laid  at  our 
particular  door:  Ulysses,  I  reminded  him,  had 
reason  to  regret  a  similar  act  of  bravado,  and  — 
were  he  here  —  would  certainly  advise  a  timely 
retreat.  Edward  held  but  a  low  opinion  of  me 
as  a  counsellor ;  but  he  had  a  very  solid  respect 
for  Ulysses. 


15! 


The  Roman  Road 


*3'3 


THE    ROMAN    ROAD 

\  LL  the  roads  of  our  neighbourhood  were 
± Ta.  cheerful  and  friendly,  having  each  of  them 
pleasant  qualities  of  their  own  ;  but  this  one 
seemed  different  from  the  others  in  its  masterful 
suggestion  of  a  serious  purpose,  speeding  you  along 
with  a  strange  uplifting  of  the  heart.  The  others 
tempted  chiefly  with  their  treasures  of  hedge  and 
ditch ;  the  rapt  surprise  of  the  first  lords-and- 
ladies,  the  rustle  of  a  field-mouse,  splash  of  a  frog  ; 
while  cool  noses  of  brother-beasts  were  pushed 
at  you  through  gate  or  gap.  A  loiterer  you  had 
need  to  be,  did  you  choose  one  of  them,  —  so 
many  were  the  tiny  hands  thrust  out  to  detain 
you,  from  this  side  and  that.  But  this  other  was  of 
a  sterner  sort,  and  even  in  its  shedding  off  of  bank 
and  hedgerow  as  it  marched  straight  and  full  for 
the  open  downs,  it  seemed  to  declare  its  contempt 
for  adventitious  trappings  to  catch  the  shallow- 
pated.  When  the  sense  of  injustice  or  disappoint- 
155 


The  Golden  Age 

ment  was  heavy  on  me,  and  things  were  very 
black  within,  as  on  this  particular  day,  the  road 
of  character  was  my  choice  for  that  solitary  ramble, 
when  I  turned  my  back  for  an  afternoon  on  a 
world  that  had  unaccountably  declared  itself  against 
me. 

"  The  Knights'  Road,"  we  children  had  named 
it,  from  a  sort  of  feeling  that,  if  from  any  quar- 
ter at  all,  it  would  be  down  this  track  we  might 
some  day  see  Lancelot  and  his  peers  come  pacing 
on  their  great  war-horses,  —  supposing  that  any  of 
the  stout  band  still  survived,  in  nooks  and  unex- 
plored places.  Grown-up  people  sometimes  spoke 
of  it  as  the  "  Pilgrims'  Way  "  ;  but  I  did  n't  know 
much  about  pilgrims,  —  except  Walter  in  the  Hor- 
selberg  story.  Him  I  sometimes  saw,  breaking 
with  haggard  eyes  out  of  yonder  copse,  and  call- 
ing to  the  pilgrims  as  they  hurried  along  on  their 
desperate  march  to  the  Holy  City,  where  peace 
and  pardon  were  awaiting  them.  "  All  roads 
lead  to  Rome,"  I  had  once  heard  somebody  say  ; 
and  I  had  taken  the  remark  very  seriously,  of 
course,  and  puzzled  over  it  many  days.  There 
must  have  been  some  mistake,  I  concluded  at  last  ; 
but  of  one  road  at  least  I  intuitively  felt  it  to  be 
156 


The  Roman  Road 

true.  And  my  belief  was  clinched  by  something 
that  fell  from  Miss  Smedley  during  a  history 
lesson,  about  a  strange  road  that  ran  right  down 
the  middle  of  England  till  it  reached  the  coast, 
and  then  began  again  in  France,  just  opposite,  and 
so  on  undeviating,  through  city  and  vineyard, 
right  from  the  misty  Highlands  to  the  Eternal 
City.  Uncorroborated,  any  statement  of  Miss 
Smedley's  usually  fell  on  incredulous  ears;  but 
here,  with  the  road  itself  in  evidence,  she  seemed, 
once,  in  a  way,  to  have  strayed  into  truth. 

Rome  !  It  was  fascinating  to  think  that  it  lay 
at  the  other  end  of  this  white  ribbon  that  rolled 
itself  off  from  my  feet  over  the  distant  downs. 
I  was  not  quite  so  uninstructed  as  to  imagine  I 
could  reach  it  that  afternoon  ;  but  some  day,  I 
thought,  if  things  went  on  being  as  unpleasant  as 
they  were  now,  —  some  day,  when  Aunt  Eliza 
hcd  gone  on  a  visit,  —  we  would  see. 

I  tried  to  imagine  what  it  would  be  like  when 
I  got  there.  The  Coliseum  I  knew,  of  course, 
from  a  woodcut  in  the  history-book  :  so  to  begir 
with  I  plumped  that  down  in  the  middle.  The 
rest  had  to  be  patched  up  from  the  little  grey 
market-town  where  twice  a  year  we  went  to 
157 


The  Golden  Age 

have  our  hair  cut ;  hence,  in  the  result,  Vespa- 
sian's amphitheatre  was  approached  by  muddy  lit- 
tle streets,  wherein  the  Red  Lion  and  the  Blue 
Boar,  with  Somebody's  Entire  along  their  front, 
and  "Commercial  Room"  on  their  windows; 
the  doctor's  house,  of  substantial  red-brick  ;  and 
the  facade  of  the  New  Wesleyan  Chapel,  which 
we  thought  very  fine,  were  the  chief  architectural 
ornaments :  while  the  Roman  populace  pottered 
about  in  smocks  and  corduroys,  twisting  the  tails 
of  Roman  calves  and  inviting  each  other  to  beer 
in  musical  Wessex.  From  Rome  I  drifted  on  to 
other  cities,  dimly  heard  of — Damascus,  Brighton 
(Aunt  Eliza's  ideal),  Athens,  and  Glasgow, 
whose  glories  the  gardener  sang ;  but  there  was 
a  certain  sameness  in  my  conception  of  all  of  them  : 
that  Wesleyan  chapel  would  keep  cropping  up 
everywhere.  It  was  easier  to  go  a-building  among 
those  dream-cities  where  no  limitations  were  im- 
posed, and  one  was  sole  architect,  with  a  free 
hand.  Down  a  delectable  street  of  cloud-built 
palaces  I  was  mentally  pacing,  when  I  happened 
upon  the  Artist. 

He  was  seated  at  work  by  the  roadside,  at  a 
point  whence  the  cool  large  spaces  of  the  downs, 
158 


The  Roman  Road 

juniper-studded,  swept  grandly  westwards.  His 
attributes  proclaimed  him  of  the  artist  tribe  :  be- 
sides, he  wore  knickerbockers  like  myself,  —  a  garb 
confined,  I  was  aware,  to  boys  and  artists.  I  knew 
I  was  not  to  bother  him  with  questions;  nor  look 
over  his  shoulder  and  breathe  in  his  ear  —  they 
did  n't  like  it,  this  genus  irritabile  ;  but  there  was 
nothing  about  staring  in  my  code  of  instructions, 
the  point  having  somehow  been  overlooked  :  so, 
squatting  down  on  the  grass,  I  devoted  myself  to 
a  passionate  absorbing  of  every  detail.  At  the 
end  of  five  minutes  there  was  not  a  button  on 
him  that  I  could  not  have  passed  an  examination 
in  ;  and  the  wearer  himself  of  that  homespun  suit 
was  probably  less  familiar  with  its  pattern  and  tex- 
ture than  I  was.  Once  he  looked  up,  nodded, 
half  held  out  his  tobacco  pouch,  —  mechanically, 
as  it  were,  — then,  returning  it  to  his  pocket,  re- 
sumed his  work,  and  I  my  mental  photography. 

After  another  five  minutes  or  so  had  passed  he 
remarked,  without  looking  mv  way  :  "  Fine  after- 
noon we  're  having  :   going  far  to-day  ?" 

"No,  I  'm  not  going  any  farther  than  this," 
I  replied  ;  "  I  was  thinking  of  going  on  to  Rome, 
but  I  've  put  it  off." 

J59 


The  Golden  Age 

"Pleasant  place, Rome,"  he  murmured;  "you'll 
like  it."  It  was  some  minutes  later  that  he  added  : 
"  But  I  would  n't  go  just  now,  if  I  were  you,  — 
too  jolly  hot." 

"  You  haven't  been  to  Rome,  have  you?"  I 
inquired. 

"  Rather,"  he  replied,  briefly  ;  "  I  live 
there." 

This  was  too  much,  and  my  jaw  dropped  as 
I  struggled  to  grasp  the  fact  that  I  was  sitting 
there  talking  to  a  fellow  who  lived  in  Rome. 
Speech  was  out  of  the  question :  besides,  I  had 
other  things  to  do.  Ten  solid  minutes  had  I  already 
spent  in  an  examination  of  him  as  a  mere  stranger 
and  artist ;  and  now  the  whole  thing  had  to  be 
done  over  again,  from  the  changed  point  of  view. 
So  I  began  afresh,  at  the  crown  of  his  soft  hat, 
and  worked  down  to  his  solid  British  shoes,  this 
time  investing  everything  with  the  new  Roman 
halo  ;  and  at  last  I  managed  to  get  out :  "  But  you 
don't  really  live  there,  do  you  ?  "  never  doubting 
the  fact,  but  wanting  to  hear  it  repeated. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  good-naturedly  overlooking 
'he  slight  rudeness  of  my  query,  "  I  live  there 
as  much  as  1  live  anywhere,  —  about  half  the  year 
160 


The  Roman  Road 

sometimes.  I  've  got  a  sort  of  a  shanty  there. 
You  must  come  and  see  it  some  day." 

"  But  do  you  live  anywhere  else  as  well  ?  "  I 
went  on,  feeling  the  forbidden  tide  of  questions 
surging  up  within  me. 

"  O  ves,  all  over  the  place,"  was  his  vague 
reply.  "And  I've  got  a  diggings  somewhere 
off  Piccadilly." 

"  Where  's  that  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Where  's  what  ? "  said  he.  "  Oh,  Piccadily ! 
It 's  in  London." 

"Have  vou  a  large  garden?"  I  asked;  "and 
how  manv  pigs  have  you  got?" 

"  I  've  no  garden  at  all,"  he  replied,  sadly, 
"  and  they  don't  allow  me  to  keep  pigs,  though 
I  'd  like  to,  awfully.      It's  very  hard." 

"  But  what  do  you  do  all  day,  then,"  I  cried, 
"  and  where  do  you  go  and  play,  without  any 
garden,  or  pigs,  or  things  ?  " 

"  When  I  want  to  plav,"  he  said,  gravelv,  "I 
have  to  go  and  play  in  the  street;  but  it  's  poor 
fun,  I  grant  you.  There  's  a  goat,  though,  not 
far  off,  and  sometimes  I  talk  to  him  when  I  'm 
feeling  lonely  ;   but  he  's  verv  proud." 

"Goats  are  proud,"  I  admitted.  "There's 
161 


The  Golden  Age 

one  lives  near  here,  and  if  you  say  anything  to 
him  at  all,  he  hits  you  in  the  wind  with  his  head. 
You  know  what  it  feels  like  when  a  fellow  hits 
you  in  the  wind  ?  " 

"I  do,  well,"  he  replied,  in  a  tone  of  proper 
melancholy,  and  painted  on. 

"  And  have  you  been  to  any  other  places," 
I  began  again,  presently,  "  besides  Rome  and 
Piccy-what  's-his-name  ?  " 

"  Heaps,"  he  said.  "  I'm  a  sort  of  Ulysses  — 
seen  men  and  cities,  you  know.  In  fact,  about 
the  only  place  I  never  got  to  was  the  Fortunate 
Island." 

I  began  to  like  this  man.  He  answered  your 
questions  briefly  and  to  the  point,  and  never  tried 
to  be  funny.  I  felt  I  could  be  confidential  with 
him. 

"  Would  n't  you  like,"  I  inquired,  "  to  find  a 
citv  without  any  people  in  it  at  all  ? " 

He  looked  puzzled.  "  I  'm  afraid  I  don't  quite 
understand,"  said  he. 

"1  mean,"  I  went  on  eagerly,  "a  city  where 

you  walk  in  at  the  gates,  and  the  shops  are  all 

full  of  beautiful  things,  and  the  houses  furnished 

as  grand  as  can  be,  and  there  is  n't  anybody  there 

162 


The  Roman  Road 

whatever !  And  you  go  into  the  shops,  and  take 
anything  you  want  —  chocolates  and  magic-lan- 
terns and  injirubber  balls  —  and  there  's  nothing 
to  pay ;  and  you  choose  your  own  house  and 
live  there  and  do  just  as  you  like,  and  never  go  to 
bed  unless  you  want  to  !  " 

The  artist  laid  down  his  brush.  "  That  would 
be  a  nice  city,"  he  said.  "  Better  than  Rome. 
You  can't  do  that  sort  of  thing  in  Rome,  —  or  in 
Piccadilly  either.  But  I  fear  it 's  one  of  the  places 
I  've  never  been  to." 

"  And  you  'd  ask  your  friends,"  I  went  on, 
warming  to  my  subject,  — "  only  those  you  really 
like,  of  course,  — and  they'd  each  have  a  house 
to  themselves,  —  there  'd  be  lots  of  houses,  —  and 
no  relations  at  all,  unless  they  promised  they  'd 
be  pleasant,  and  if  they  were  n't  they  'd  have  to 

go-" 

"  So  you  would  n't  have  any  relations  ?  "  said 
the  artist.  "  Well,  perhaps  you  're  right.  We 
have  tastes  in  common,  I  see." 

"  I  'd  have  Harold,"  I  said,  reflectively,  '*  and 

Charlotte.     They  'd  like  it  awfully.     The  others 

are  getting  too  old.     Oh,  and  Martha  —  I  'd  have 

Martha,  to  cook  and  wash  up  and  do  things.    You  'd 

163 


The  Golden  Age 

like  Martha.      She 's  ever    so    much  nicer  than 
Aunt  Eliza.      She  's  my  idea  of  a  real  lady." 

"  Then  I  'm  sure  I  should  like  her,"  he  re- 
plied, heartily,  "  and  when  I  come  to  —  what  do 
you  call  this  city  of  yours?  Nephelo  —  some- 
thing, did  you  say  ?  " 

"I  — I  don't  know,"  I  replied,  timidly.  "  I  'm 
afraid  it  hasn't  got  a  name  —  yet." 

The  artist  gazed  out  over  the  downs.  "  '  The 
poet  says,  dear  city  of  Cecrops ; '  "  he  said,  softly, 
to  himself,  "  'and  wilt  not  thou  say,  dear  city 
of  Zeus  ? '  That 's  from  Marcus  Aurelius,"  he 
went  on,  turning  again  to  his  work.  "  You  don't 
know  him,  I  suppose  ;   you  will  some  day." 

"  Who's  he?"  I  inquired. 

"  Oh,  just  another  fellow  who  lived  in  Rome," 
he  replied,  dabbing  away. 

"  O  dear  !  "  I  cried,  disconsolately.  "  What 
a  lot  of  people  seem  to  live  at  Rome,  and  I  've 
never  even  been  there  !  But  I  think  I  'd  like 
my  city  best." 

"  And  so  would  I,"  he  replied  with  unction. 
"But  Marcus  Aurelius  wouldn't,  you  know." 

"  Then  we  won't  invite  him,"  I  said,  "  will 
we?" 

164. 


The  Roman  Road 

"  /won't  if  you  won't,"  said  he.  And  that 
point  being  settled,  we  were  silent  for  a  while. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  said,  presently,  "I've 
met  one  or  two  fellows  from  time  to  time  who 
have  been  to  a  city  like  yours,  —  perhaps  it  was 
the  same  one.  They  won't  talk  much  about  it 
—  only  broken  hints,  now  and  then  ;  but  they  've 
been  there  sure  enough.  They  don't  seem  to 
care  about  anything  in  particular  —  and  every- 
thing's the  same  to  them,  rough  or  smooth; 
and  sooner  or  later  they  slip  off  and  disappear; 
and  you  never  see  them  again.  Gone  back,  I 
suppose." 

"  Of  course,"  said  I.  "  Don't  see  what  they 
ever  came  away  for  ;  1  would  n't,  ■ — ■  to  be  told 
you've  broken  things  when  you  haven't,  and 
stopped  having  tea  with  the  servants  in  the 
kitchen,  and  not  allowed  to  have  a  dog  to  sleep 
with  you.  But  I've  known  people,  too,  who've 
gone  there." 

The  artist  stared,  but  without  incivility. 

"  Well,  there  's  Lancelot,"  I  went  on.     "The 

book  says  he  died,  but  it  never  seemed   to  read 

right,    somehow.        He    just    went    awav,    like 

Arthur.      And    Crusoe,    when    he    got    tired    of 

.65 


The  Golden  Age 

wearing  clothes  and  being  respectable,  And  all 
the  nice  men  in  the  stories  who  don't  marry  the 
Princess,  'cos  only  one  man  ever  gets  married  in 
a  book,  you  know.      They  '11  be  there  I " 

"And  the  men  who  never  come  off,"  he  said, 
"  who  try  like  the  rest,  but  get  knocked  out,  or 
somehow  miss,  —  or  break  down  or  get  bowled 
over  in  the  melee, — and  get  no  Princess,  nor 
even  a  second-class  kingdom,  —  some  of  them  '11 
be  there,  I  hope  ? " 

"  Yes,  if  you  like,"  I  replied,  not  quite  un- 
derstanding him;  "if  they're  friends  of  yours, 
we  '11  ask  'em,  of  course." 

"  What  a  time  we  shall  have  I  "  said  the  artist, 
reflectively  ;  "and  how  shocked  old  Marcus  Au- 
relius  will  be  I" 

The  shadows  had  lengthened  uncannily,  a  tide 
of  golden  haze  was  flooding  the  grey-green  sur- 
face of  the  downs,  and  the  artist  began  to  put  his 
traps  together,  preparatory  to  a  move.  I  felt  very 
low  ;  we  would  have  to  part,  it  seemed,  just  as 
we  were  getting  on  so  well  together.  Then  he 
stood  up,  and  he  was  very  straight  and  tall,  and 
the  sunset  was  in  his  hair  and  beard  as  he  stood 
there,  high  over  me.  He  took  my  hand  like  an 
1 66 


The  Roman  Road 

equal.  "  I  've  enjoyed  our  conversation  very 
much,"  he  said.  "  That  was  an  interesting  sub- 
ject you  started,  and  we  have  n't  half  exhausted  it. 
We  shall  meet  again,  I  hope." 

"  Of  course  we  shall,"  I  replied,  surprised  that 
there  should  be  any  doubt  about  it. 

"In  Rome,  perhaps:"  said  he. 

"Yes,  in  Rome,"  I  answered,  " or  Piccy-the- 
other-place,  or  somewhere." 

"Or  else,"  said  he,  "in  that  other  city, — ■ 
when  we  've  found  the  way  there.  And  I  '11  look 
out  for  you,  and  you  '11  sing  out  as  soon  as  you  see 
me.  And  we  '11  go  down  the  street  arm-in-arm, 
and  into  all  the  shops,  and  then  1  '11  choose  my 
house,  and  you  '11  choose  your  house,  and  we  '11 
live  there  like  princes  and  good  fellows." 

"Oh,  but  you'll  stay  in  my  house,  won't 
you?"  I  cried;  "I  wouldn't  ask  everybody; 
but  I  '11  ask  you." 

He  affected  to  consider  a  moment;  then 
"  Right !  "  he  said  :  "  I  believe  you  mean  it,  and 
I  will  come  and  stay  with  you.  I  won't  go  to 
anybody  else,  if  they  ask  me  ever  so  much.  And 
I  '11  stay  quite  a  long  time,  too,  and  I  won't  be 
any  trouble." 

167 


The  Golden  Age 

Upon  this  compact  we  parted,  and  I  went 
down-heartedly  from  the  man  who  understood 
me,  back  to  the  house  where  I  never  could  do 
anything  right.  How  was  it  that  everything 
seemed  natural  and  sensible  to  him,  which  these 
uncles,  vicars,  and  other  grown-up  men  took  for 
the  merest  tomfoolery  ?  Well,  he  would  explain 
this,  and  many  another  thing,  when  we  met  again. 
The  Knights'  Road  !  How  it  always  brought 
consolation  !  Was  he  possibly  one  of  those  van- 
ished knights  I  had  been  looking  for  so  long  ? 
Perhaps  he  would  be  in  armour  next  time,  —  why 
not  ?  He  would  look  well  in  armour,  I  thought. 
And  I  would  take  care  to  get  there  first,  and  see 
the  sunlight  flash  and  play  on  his  helmet  and 
shield,  as  he  rode  up  the  High  Street  of  the 
Golden  City, 

Meantime,  there  only  remained  the  finding  it,— 
an  easy  matter. 


168 


The  Secret  Drawer 


169 


THE    SECRET    DRAWER 

IT  must  surely  have  served  as  a  boudoir  for  the 
ladies  of  old  time,  this  little  used,  rarely  en- 
tered chamber  where  the  neglected  old  bureau 
stood.  There  was  something  very  feminine  in 
the  faint  hues  of  its  faded  brocades,  in  the  rose  and 
blue  of  such  bits  of  china  as  yet  remained,  and  in 
the  delicate  old-world  fragrance  of  pot-pourri  from 
the  great  bowl  —  blue  and  white,  with  funny 
holes  in  its  cover  —  that  stood  on  the  bureau's 
flat  top.  Modern  aunts  disdained  this  out-of-the- 
way,  back-water,  upstairs  room,  preferring  to  do 
their  accounts  and  grapple  with  their  correspon- 
dence in  some  central  position  more  in  the  whirl 
of  things,  whence  one  eve  could  be  kept  on  the 
carriage  drive,  while  the  other  was  alert  for  malin- 
gering servants  and  marauding  children.  Those 
aunts  of  a  former  generation  —  I  sometimes  felt  — 
would  have  suited  our  habits  better.  But  even 
by  us  children,  to  whom  few  places  were  private 
171 


The  Golden  Age 

or  reserved,  the  room  was  visited  but  rarely.  To 
be  sure,  there  was  nothing  particular  in  it  that  we 
coveted  or  required, — only  a  few  spindle-legged 
gilt-backed  chairs ;  an  old  harp,  on  which,  so  the 
legend  ran,  Aunt  Eliza  herself  used  once  to  play, 
in  years  remote,  unchronicled  ;  a  corner-cupboard 
with  a  few  pieces  of  china  ;  and  the  old  bureau. 
But  one  other  thing  the  room  possessed,  peculiar 
to  itself;  a  certain  sense  of  privacy,  —  a  power  of 
making  the  intruder  feel  that  he  was  intruding,  — 
perhaps  even  a  faculty  of  hinting  that  some  one 
might  have  been  sitting  on  those  chairs,  writing 
at  the  bureau,  or  fingering  the  china,  just  a  second 
before  one  entered.  No  such  violent  word  as 
"  haunted  "  could  possibly  apply  to  this  pleasant 
old-fashioned  chamber,  which  indeed  we  all 
rather  liked ;  but  there  was  no  doubt  it  was 
reserved  and  stand-offish,  keeping  itself  to  itself. 
Uncle  Thomas  was  the  first  to  draw  my  atten- 
tion to  the  possibilities  of  the  old  bureau.  He 
was  pottering  about  the  house  one  afternoon, 
having  ordered  me  to  keep  at  his  heels  for 
company,  —  he  was  a  man  who  hated  to  be  left 
one  minute  alone,  —  when  his  eye  fell  on  it. 
«'H'm!  Sheraton!"  he  remarked.  (He  had  a 
172 


The  Secret  Drawer 

smattering  of  most  things,-  this  uncle,  especially 
the  vocabularies.)  Then  he  let  down  the  flap, 
and  examined  the  empty  pigeon-holes  and  dusty 
panelling.  "  Fine  bit  of  inlay,"  he  went  on  : 
"  good  work,  all  of  it.  I  know  the  sort.  There 's 
a  secret  drawer  in  there  somewhere."  Then,  as 
I  breathlessly  drew  near,  he  suddenly  exclaimed : 
"  Bv  Jove,  I  do  want  to  smoke !  "  and  wheeling 
round  he  abruptly  fled  for  the  garden,  leaving 
me  with  the  cup  dashed  from  my  lips.  What 
a  strange  thing,  I  mused,  was  this  smoking,  that 
takes  a  man  suddenlv,  be  he  in  the  court,  the 
camp,  or  the  grove,  grips  him  like  an  Afreet, 
and  whirls  him  off  to  do  its  imperious  behests ! 
Would  it  be  even  so  with  myself,  I  wondered, 
in  those  unknown  grown-up  vears  to  come  ? 

But  I  had  no  time  to  waste  in  vain  specula- 
tions. My  whole  being  was  still  vibrating  to 
those  magic  syllables,  "  secret  drawer  ;  "  and  that 
particular  chord  had  been  touched  that  never 
fails  to  thrill  responsive  to  such  words  as  cave, 
trap-door,  sliding-panel,  bullion,  ingots,  or  Spanish 
dollars.  For,  besides  its  own  special  bliss,  who 
ever  heard  of  a  secret  drawer  with  nothing  in 
it?  And  Oh,  I  did  want  money  so  badly  !  / 
'73 


The  Golden  Age 

mentally  ran   over   the   list  of  demands   which 
were  pressing  me  the  most  imperiously. 

First,  there  was  the  pipe  I  wanted  to  give 
George  Jannaway.  George,  who  was  Martha's 
young  man,  was  a  shepherd,  and  a  great  ally  of 
mine ;  and  the  last  fair  he  was  at,  when  he 
bought  his  sweetheart  fairings,  as  a  right-minded 
shepherd  should,  he  had  purchased  a  lovely 
snake  expressly  for  me ;  one  of  the  wooden 
sort,  with  joints,  waggling  deliciously  in  the 
hand ;  with  yellow  spots  on  a  green  ground, 
sticky  and  strong-smelling,  as  a  fresh-painted 
snake  ought  to  be  ;  and  with  a  red-flannel  tongue, 
pasted  cunningly  into  its  jaws.  I  loved  it  much, 
and  took  it  to  bed  with  me  every  night,  till 
what  time  its  spinal  cord  was  loosed  and  it  fell 
apart,  and  went  the  way  of  all  mortal  joys.  I 
thought  it  so  nice  of  George  to  think  of  me  at 
the  fair,  and  that 's  why  I  wanted  to  give  him  a 
pipe.  When  the  young  year  was  chill  and 
lambing-time  was  on,  George  inhabited  a  little 
wooden  house  on  wheels,  far  out  on  the  wintry 
downs,  and  saw  no  faces  but  such  as  were  sheep- 
ish and  woolly  and  mute ;  and  when  he  and 
Martha  were  married,  she  was  going  to  carry 
174 


The  Secret  Drawer 

his  dinner  out  to  him  every  day,  two  miles ; 
and  after  it,  perhaps  he  would  smoke  my  pipe. 
It  seemed  an  idyllic  sort  of  existence,  for  both 
the  parties  concerned  ;  but  a  pipe  of  quality,  a 
pipe  fitted  to  be  part  of  a  life  such  as  this,  could 
not  be  procured  (so  Martha  informed  me)  for 
a  less  sum  than  eighteen  pence.  And  mean- 
time— ! 

Then  there  was  the  fourpence  I  owed  Edward ; 
not  that  he  was  bothering  me  for  it,  but  I  knew 
he  was  in  need  of  it  himself,  to  pay  back  Selina, 
who  wanted  it  to  make  up  a  sum  of  two  shillings, 
to  buy  Harold  an  ironclad  for  his  approaching 
birthday,  —  H.  M.  S.  Majestic,  now  lying  use- 
lessly careened  in  the  toyshop  window,  just 
when  her  country  had  such  sore  need  of  her. 

And  then  there  was  that  boy  in  the  village 
who  had  caught  a  young  squirrel,  and  I  had 
never  vet  possessed  one,  and  he  wanted  a  shilling 
for  it,  but  I  knew  that  for  ninepence  in  cash  — 
but  what  was  the  good  of  these  sorry,  threadbare 
reflections?  I  had  wants  enough  to  exhaust  any 
possible  find  of  bullion,  even  if  it  amounted  to 
half  a  sovereign.  My  only  hope  now  lay  in  the 
magic  drawer,  and  here  I  was  standing  and  letting 
175 


The  Golden  Age 

the  precious  minutes  slip  by.  Whether  "find- 
ings" of  this  sort  could,  morally  speaking,  be 
considered  "  keepings,"  was  a  point  that  did  not 
occur  to  me. 

The  room  was  very  still  as  I  approached  the 
bureau,- — possessed,  it  seemed  to  be,  by  a  sort 
of  hush  of  expectation.  The  faint  odour  oi 
orris-root  that  floated  forth  as  I  let  down  the  flap, 
seemed  to  identify  itself  with  the  yellows  and 
browns  of  the  old  wood,  till  hue  and  scent  were 
of  one  quality  and  interchangeable.  Even  so, 
ere  this,  the  pot-pourri  had  mixed  itself  with 
the  tints  of  the  old  brocade,  and  brocade  and 
pot-pourri  had  long  been  one.  With  expectant 
fingers  I  explored  the  empty  pigeon-holes  and 
sounded  the  depths  of  the  softly-sliding  drawers. 
No  books  that  I  knew  of  gave  any  general  recipe 
for  a  quest  like  this;  but  the  glory,  should  I 
succeed  unaided,  would  be  all  the  greater. 

To  him  who  is  destined  to  arrive,  the  fates 
never  fail  to  afford,  on  the  way,  their  small 
encouragements ;  in  less  than  two  minutes,  I 
had  come  across  a  rusty  button-hook.  This  was 
Jruly  magnificent.  In  the  nursery  there  existed, 
indeed,  a  general  button-hook,  common  to  either 
176 


The  Secret  Drawer 

sex ;  but  none  of  us  possessed  a  private  and 
special  button-hook,  to  lend  or  refuse  as  suited 
the  high  humour  of  the  moment,  I  pocketed 
the  treasure  carefully  and  proceeded.  At  the 
back  of  another  drawer,  three  old  foreign  stamps 
told  me  I  was  surely  on  the  highroad  to  fortune. 
Following  on  these  bracing  incentives,  came 
a  dull  blank  period  of  unrewarded  search.  In 
vain  I  removed  all  the  drawers  and  felt  over 
every  inch  of  the  smooth  surfaces,  from  front  to 
back.  Never  a  knob,  spring  or  projection  met 
the  thrilling  finger-tips  ;  unyielding  the  old 
bureau  stood,  stoutly  guarding  its  secret,  if  secret 
it  really  had.  I  began  to  grow  wearv  and  dis- 
heartened. This  was  not  the  first  time  tnat 
Uncle  Thomas  had  proved  shallow,  uninformed, 
a  guide  into  blind  alleys  where  the  echoes  mocked 
you.  Was  it  any  good  persisting  longer?  Was 
anything  any  good  whatever  r  In  my  mind  I 
began  to  review  past  disappointments,  and  life 
seemed  one  long  record  of  failure  and  of  non- 
arrival.  Disillusioned  and  depressed,  I  left  my 
work  and  went  to  the  window.  The  light  was 
ebbing  from  the  room,  and  outside  seemed  to  be 
collecting  itself  on  the  horizon  for  its  concentra- 
177 


The  Golden  Age 

ted  effort  of  sunset.  Far  down  the  garden, 
Uncle  Thomas  was  holding  Edward  in  the  air 
reversed,  and  smacking  him.  Edward,  gurgling 
hysterically,  was  striking  blind  fists  in  the  direc- 
tion where  he  judged  his  uncle's  stomach  should 
rightly  be  ;  the  contents  of  his  pockets  —  a  mot- 
ley show  —  were  strewing  the  lawn.  Somehow, 
though  I  had  been  put  through  a  similar  per- 
formance an  hour  or  two  ago,  myself,  it  all 
seemed  very  far  away  and  cut  off  from  me. 

Westwards  the  clouds  were  massing  them- 
selves in  a  low  violet  bank ;  below  them,  to 
north  and  south,  as  far  round  as  eye  could  reach, 
a  narrow  streak  of  gold  ran  out  and  stretched 
away,  straight  along  the  horizon.  Some- 
where very  far  off,  a  horn  was  being  blown, 
clear  and  thin  ;  it  sounded  like  the  golden  streak 
grown  audible,  while  the  gold  seemed  the  visible 
sound.  It  pricked  my  ebbing  courage,  this 
blended  strain  of  music  and  colour,  and  I  turned 
for  a  last  effort ;  and  Fortune  thereupon,  as  if 
half-ashamed  of  the  unworthy  game  she  had  been 
plaving  with  me,  relented,  opening  her  clenched 
fist.  Hardly  had  I  put  my  hand  once  more  to 
■  the  obdurate  wood,  when  with  a  sort  of  small 
178 


The  Secret  Drawer 

sigh,  almost  a  sob — as  it  were — -of  relief,  the 
secret  drawer  sprang  open. 

I  drew  it  out  and  carried  it  to  the  window, 
to  examine  it  in  the  failing  light.  Too  hopeless 
had  I  gradually  grown,  in  my  dispiriting  search, 
to  expect  very  much ;  and  yet  at  a  glance  I  saw 
that  my  basket  of  glass  lay  in  fragments  at  my 
feet.  No  ingots  or  dollars  were  here,  to  crown 
me  the  little  Monte  Cristo  of  a  week.  Outside, 
the  distant  horn  had  ceased  its  gnat-song,  the 
gold  was  paling  to  primrose,  and  everything  was 
lonely  and  still.  Within,  my  confident  little 
castles  were  tumbling  down  like  card-houses, 
leaving  me  stripped  of  estate,  both  real  and  per. 
sonal,  and  dominated  by  the  depressing  reaction. 

And  yet, — as  I  looked  again  at  the  small 
collection  that  lay  within  that  drawer  of  disillu- 
sions, some  warmth  crept  back  to  my  heart  as  I 
recognised  that  a  kindred  spirit  to  mv  own  had 
been  at  the  making  of  it  Two  tarnished  gilt 
buttons,  —  naval,  apparent! v, — a  portrait  of  a 
monarch  unknown  to  me,  cut  from  some  antique 
print  and  deftly  coloured  by  hand  in  just  my 
own  bold  style  of  brush-work,  —  some  foreign 
copper  coins,  thicker  and  clumsier  of  make  than 
179 


The  Golden  Age 

those  I  hoarded  myself,  —  and  a  list  of  birds1 
eggs,  with  names  of  the  places  where  they  had 
been  found.  Also,  a  ferret's  muzzle,  and  a  twist 
of  tarry  string,  still  faintly  aromatic.  It  was  a 
real  boy's  hoard,  then,  that  I  had  happened  upon. 
He  too  had  found  out  the  secret  drawer,  this 
happy  starred  young  person ;  and  here  he  had 
stowed  away  his  treasures,  one  by  one,  and  had 
cherished  them  secretly  awhile;  and  then- — 
what?  Well,  one  would  never  know  now  the 
reason  why  these  priceless  possessions  still  lay 
here  unreclaimed  ;  but  across  the  void  stretch  of 
years  I  seemed  to  touch  hands  a  moment  with 
my  little  comrade  of  seasons  long  since  dead. 

I  restored  the  drawer,  with  its  contents,  to 
the  trusty  bureau,  and  heard  the  spring  click 
with  a  certain  satisfaction.  Some  other  boy, 
perhaps,  would  some  day  release  that  spring 
again.  I  trusted  he  would  be  equally  apprecia- 
tive. As  I  opened  the  door  to  go,  I  could  hear 
from  the  nursery  at  the  end  of  the  passage  shouts 
and  yells,  telling  that  the  hunt  was  up.  Bears, 
apparently,  or  bandits,  were  on  the  evening  bill 
of  fare,  judging  by  the  character  of  the  noises. 
In  another  minute  I  would  be  in  the  thick  of  it, 
1 80 


The  Secret  Drawer 

in  all  the  warmth  and  light  and  laughter.  And 
vet  —  what  a  long  way  off  it  all  seemed,  both  in 
space  and  time,  to  me  yet  lingering  on  the 
threshold  of  that  old-world  chamber  ! 


181 


"  Exit  Tvrannus  " 


183 


"EXIT    TYRANNUS" 

THE  eventful  day  had  arrived  at  last,  the  day 
which,  when  first  named,  had  seemed  — 
like  all  golden  dates  that  promise  anything  defi- 
nite— so  immeasurably  remote.  When  it  was 
first  announced,  a  fortnight  before,  that  Miss 
Smedley  was  really  going,  the  resultant  ecstasies 
had  occupied  a  full  week,  during  which  we 
blindly  revelled  in  the  contemplation  and  discus- 
sion of  her  past  tyrannies,  crimes,  malignities; 
in  recalling  to  each  other  this  or  that  insult, 
dishonour,  or  physical  assault,  sullenly  endured 
at  a  time  when  deliverance  was  not  even  a  small 
star  on  the  horizon ;  and  in  mapping  out  the 
golden  davs  to  come,  with  special  new  troubles 
of  their  own,  no  doubt,  since  this  is  but  a  work- 
a-day  world,  but  at  least  free  from  one  familiar 
scourge.  The  time  that  remained  had  been 
taken  up  by  the  planning  of  practical  expressions 
of  the  popular  sentiment.  Under  Edward's 
masterly  direction,  arrangements  had  been  made 


The  Golden  Age 

for  a  flag  to  he  run  up  over  the  hen-house  at  the 
very  moment  when  the  fly,  with  Miss  Smedley's 
boxes  on  top  and  the  grim  oppressor  herself 
inside,  began  to  move  off  down  the  drive. 
Three  brass  cannons,  set  on  the  brow  of  the 
sunk-fence,  were  to  proclaim  our  deathless  senti- 
ments in  the  ears  of  the  retreating  foe  :  the  dogs 
were  to  wear  ribbons,  and  later  —  but  this 
depended  on  our  powers  of  evasiveness  and  dis- 
simulation—  there  might  be  a  small  bonfire, 
with  a  cracker  or  two,  if  the  public  funds  could 
bear  the  unwonted  strain. 

I  was  awakened  by  Harold  digging  me  in  the 
ribs,  and  "  She  's  going  to-dav  !  "  was  the  morn- 
ing hymn  that  scattered  the  clouds  of  sleep. 
Strange  to  say,  it  was  with  no  corresponding 
jubilation  of  spirits  that  I  slowly  realised  the 
momentous  fact.  Indeed,  as  I  dressed,  a  dull 
disagreeable  feeling  that  I  could  not  define  grew 
within  me  —  something  like  a  physical  bruise. 
Harold  was  evidently  feeling  it  too,  for  after 
repeating  "  She  's  going  to-day  !  "  in  a  tone  more 
befitting  the  Litany,  he  looked  hard  in  my  face 
for  direction  as  to  how  the  situation  was  to  be 
laken.  But  I  crossly  bade  him  look  sharp  and 
1 86 


"  Exit  Tyrannus" 

sav  his  prayers  and  not  bother  me.  What  could 
this  gloom  portend,  that  on  a  day  of  days  like 
the  present  seemed  to  hang  my  heavens  with 
black  ? 

Down  at  last  and  out  in  the  sun,  we  found 
Edward  before  us,  swinging  on  a  gate,  and  chant- 
ing a  farm-yard  ditty  in  which  all  the  beasts 
appear  in  due  order,  jargoning  in  their  several 
tongues,  and  every  verse  begins  with  the  coup- 
let— 

"  Now,  my  lads,  come  with  me, 
Out  in  the  morning  early!" 

The  fateful  exodus  of  the  day  had  evidently 
slipped  his  memory  entirely.  I  touched  him 
on  the  shoulder.  "  She 's  going  to-day  !  "  I  said. 
Edward's  carol  subsided  like  a  water-tap  turned 
off.  "  So  she  is !  "  he  replied,  and  got  down  at 
once  off  the  gate  :  and  we  returned  to  the  house 
without  another  word. 

At  breakfast  Miss  Smedley  behaved  in  a  most 
mean  and  uncalled-for  manner.  The  right 
divine  of  governesses  to  govern  wrong  includes 
no  right  to  cry.  In  thus  usurping  the  preroga- 
tive of  their  victims,  they  ignore  the  rules  of  the 
187 


The  Golden  Age 

ring,  and  hit  below  the  belt.  Charlotte  was 
crying,  of  course  ;  but  that  counted  for  nothing. 
Charlotte  even  cried  when  the  pigs'  noses  were 
ringed  in  due  season  ;  thereby  evoking  the  cheery 
contempt  of  the  operators,  who  asserted  they 
liked  it,  and  doubtless  knew.  But  when  the 
cloud-compeller,  her  bolts  laid  aside,  resorted  to 
tears,  mutinous  humanity  had  a  right  to  feel 
aggrieved,  and  placed  in  a  false  and  difficult 
position.  What  would  the  Romans  have  done, 
supposing  Hannibal  had  cried  ?  History  has 
not  even  considered  the  possibility.  Rules  and 
precedents  should  be  strictly  observed  on  both 
sides ;  when  they  are  violated,  the  other  party 
is  justified  in  feeling  injured. 

There  were  no  lessons  that  morning,  naturally 
—  another  grievance!  The  fitness  of  things 
required  that  we  should  have  struggled  to  the 
last  in  a  confused  medley  of  moods  and  tenses, 
and  parted  for  ever,  flushed  with  hatred,  over 
the  dismembered  corpse  of  the  multiplication 
table.  But  this  thing  was  not  to  be ;  and  I 
was  free  to  stroll  by  myself  through  the  garden, 
and  combat,  as  best  I  might,  this  growing  feel- 
ing of  depression.  It  was  a  wrong  system 
188 


"  Exit  Tyrannus  " 

altogether,  I  thought,  this  going  of  people  one 
had  got  used  to.  Things  ought  always  to  con- 
tinue as  they  had  been.  Change  there  must  be, 
of  course ;  pigs,  for  instance,  came  and  went 
with  disturbing  frequency  — 

"  Fired  their  ringing  shot  and  passed, 
Hotly  charged  and  sank  at  last,"  — 

but  Nature  had  ordered  it  so,  and  in  requital  had 
provided  for  rapid  successors.  Did  you  come  to 
love  a  pig,  and  he  was  taken  from  you,  grief  was 
quickly  assuaged  in  the  delight  o{  selection  from 
the  new  litter.  But  now,  when  it  was  no  ques- 
tion of  a  peerless  pig,  but  only  of  a  governess, 
Nature  seemed  helpless,  and  the  future  held  no 
litter  of  oblivion.  Things  might  be  better,  or 
they  might  be  worse,  but  they  would  never  be 
the  same ;  and  the  innate  conservatism  of  youth 
asks  neither  poverty  nor  riches,  but  only  immunity 
from  change. 

Edward  slouched  up  alongside  of  me  presently, 
with  a  hang-dog  look  on  him,  as  if  he  had  been 
caught  stealing  jam.  "  What  a  lark  it'll  be  when 
she  's  really  gone  ! "  he  observed,  with  a  swagger 
obviously  assumed. 

189 


The  Golden  Age 

"  Grand  fun  !  "  I  replied,  dolorously  ;  and  con- 
versation flagged. 

We  reached  the  hen-house,  and  contemplated 
the  banner  of  freedom  lying  ready  to  flaunt  the 
breezes  at  the  supreme  moment. 

"  Shall  you  run  it  up,"  I  asked,  "when  the  fly 
starts,  or  —  or  wait  a  little  till  it 's  out  of  sight?" 

Edward  gazed  around  him  dubiously.  "  We  're 
going  to  have  some  rain,  I  think,"  he  said  ;  "and 
—  and  it 's  a  new  flag.  It  would  be  a  pity  to 
spoil  it.      P'raps  I  won't  run  it  up  at  ail." 

Harold  came  round  the  corner  like  a  bison 
pursued  by  Indians.  "  I  've  polished  up  the  can- 
nons," he  cried,  "and  they  look  grand  !  Mayn't 
I  load  'em  now  ?" 

"  You  leave  'em  alone,"  said  Edward,  severely, 
"  or  you  '11  be  blowing  yourself  up  "  (considera- 
tion for  others  was  not  usually  Edward's  strong 
point).  "  Don't  touch  the  gunpowder  till  you  're 
told,  or  you  '11  get  your  head  smacked." 

Harold  fell  behind,  limp,  squashed,  obedient. 
"She  wants  me  to  write  to  her,"  he  began,  pres- 
ently. "Says  she  doesn't  mind  the  spelling,  if 
I  '11  only  write.      Fancy  her  saying  that !  " 

"Oh,  shut  up,  will  you?"  said  Edward,  sav- 
190 


<c  Exit  Tyrannus  " 

agelv  ;  and  once  more  we  were  silent,  with  only 
our  thoughts  for  sorry  company. 

"  Let 's  go  off  to  the  copse,"  I  suggested  tim- 
idlv,  feeling  that  something  had  to  be  done  to 
relieve  the  tension,  "and  cut  more  new  bows  and 
arrows." 

"She  gave  me  a  knife  my  last  birthday,"  said 
Edward,  moodily,  never  budging.  "It  wasn't 
much  of  a  knife  —  but  I  wish  I  had  n't  lost  it." 

"When  my  legs  used  to  ache,"  I  said,  "she 
sat  up  half  the  night,  rubbing  stuff  on  them.  I 
forgot  all  about  that  till  this  morning." 

"  There  's  the  fly  !  "  cried  Harold  suddenly. 
"I  can  hear  it  scrunching  on  the  gravel." 

Then  for  the  first  time  we  turned  and  stared 
one  another  in  the  face. 

The  fly  and  its  contents  had  finallv  disappeared 
through  the  gate  :  the  rumble  cf  its  wheels  had 
died  away  ;  and  no  flag  floated  defiantly  in  the 
sun,  no  cannons  proclaimed  the  passing  of  a 
dv  nasty.  From  out  the  frosted  cake  of  our  exist- 
ence Fate  had  cut  an  irreplaceable  segment;  turn 
which  way  we  would,  the  void  was  present.  We 
sneaked  off  in  different  directions,  mutually  unde- 
I9I 


The  Golden  Age 

sirous  of  company  ;  and  it  seemed  borne  in  upon 
me  that  I  ought  to  go  and  dig  my  garden  right 
over,  from  end  to  end.  It  did  n't  actually  want 
digging  ;  on  the  other  hand,  no  amount  of  dig- 
ging could  affect  it,  for  good  or  for  evil  ;  so  I 
worked  steadily,  strenuously,  under  the  hot  sun, 
stifling  thought  in  action.  At  the  end  of  an  hour 
or  so,  I  was  joined  by  Edward. 

"  I  've  been  chopping  up  wood,"  he  explained, 
in  a  guilty  sort  of  way,  though  nobody  had  called 
on  him  to  account  for  his  doings. 

"  What  for  ?  "  I  inquired,  stupidly.  "  There 's 
piles  and  piles  of  it  chopped  up  already." 

"I  know,"  said  Edward;  "but  there's  no 
harm  in  having  a  bit  over.  You  never  can  tell 
what  may  happen.  But  what  have  you  been  doing 
all  this  digging  for  ?" 

"  You  said  it  was  going  to  rain,"  I  explained, 
hastily  ;  "  so  I  thought  I  'd  get  the  digging  done 
before  it  came.  Good  gardeners  always  tell  you 
that 's  the  right  thing  to  do." 

"It  did  look  like  rain  at  one  time,"  Edward 
admitted  ;  "  but  it 's  passed  off  now.  Very  queer 
weather  we  're  having.  I  suppose  that 's  why  I  've 
felt  so  funny  all  day." 

192 


"  Exit  Tyrannus  " 

"Yes,  I  suppose  it  's  the  weather,"  I  replied. 
"I've  been  feeling  funny  too." 

The  weather  had  nothing  to  do  with  it,  as  we 
well  knew.  But  we  would  both  have  died  rather 
than  have  admitted  the  real  reason. 


'93 


The  Blue  Room 


»95 


THE    BLUE    ROOM 

THAT  nature  has  her  moments  of  sympathy 
with  man  has  been  noted  often  enough, — ■ 
and  generally  as  a  new  discover}7 ;  to  us,  who 
had  never  known  anv  other  condition  of  things, 
it  seemed  entirely  right  and  fitting  that  the  wind 
sang  and  sobbed  in  the  poplar  tops,  and  in  the  lulls 
of  it,  sudden  spirts  of  rain  spattered  the  already 
dusty  roads,  on  that  blusterous  March  day  when 
Edward  and  I  awaited,  on  the  station  platform, 
the  arrival  of  the  new  tutor.  Needless  to  say,  this 
arrangement  had  been  planned  by  an  aunt,  from 
some  fond  idea  that  our  shy,  innocent  young 
natures  would  unfold  themselves  during  the  walk 
from  the  station,  and  that  on  the  revelation  of 
each  other's  more  solid  qualities  that  must  then 
inevitably  ensue,  an  enduring  friendship  spring- 
ing from  mutual  respect  might  be  firmly  based. 
A  pretty  dream,  —  nothing  more.  For  Edward, 
who  foresaw  that  the  brunt  of  tutorial  oppression 
197 


The  Golden  Age 

would  have  to  be  borne  by  him,  was  sulky, 
monosyllabic,  and  determined  to  be  as  negatively 
disagreeable  as  good  manners  would  permit.  It 
was  therefore  evident  that  I  would  have  to  be 
spokesman  and  purveyor  of  hollow  civilities,  and 
I  was  none  the  more  amiable  on  that  account ; 
all  courtesies,  welcomes,  explanations,  and  other 
court-chamberlain  kind  of  business,  being  my 
special  aversion.  There  was  much  of  the  tem- 
pestuous March  weather  in  the  hearts  of  both  of 
us,  as  we  sullenly  glowered  along  the  carriage- 
windows  of  the  slackening  train. 

One  is  apt,  however,  to  misjudge  the  special 
difficulties  of  a  situation;  and  the  reception 
proved,  after  all,  an  easy  and  informal  matter. 
In  a  trainful  so  uniformly  bucolic,  a  tutor  was 
readily  recognisable;  and  his  portmanteau  had 
been  consigned  to  the  luggage-cart,  and  his 
person  conveyed  into  the  lane,  before  I  had  dis- 
charged one  of  my  carefully  considered  sentences. 
I  breathed  more  easily,  and,  looking  up  at  our 
new  friend  as  we  stepped  out  together,  remem- 
bered that  we  had  been  counting  on  something 
altogether  more  arid,  scholastic,  and  severe.  A 
boyish  eager  face  and  a  petulant  pince-nez, — 
198 


The  Blue  Room 

untidy  hair,  — a  head  of  constant  quick  turns 
like  a  robin's,  and  a  voice  that  kept  breaking  into 
aito,  —  these  were  all  very  strange  and  new,  but 
not  in  the  least  terrible. 

He  proceeded  jerkily  through  the  village,  with 
glances  on  this  side  and  that;  and  "Charming," 
he  broke  out  presently ;  "  quite  too  charming 
and  delightful  ! " 

I  had  not  counted  on  this  sort  of  thing,  and 
glanced  for  help  to  Edward,  who,  hands  in 
pockets,  looked  grimly  down  his  nose.  He  had 
taken  his  line,  and  meant  to  stick  to  it. 

Meantime  our  friend  had  made  an  imaginary 
spy-glass  out  of  his  fist,  and  was  squinting  through 
it  at  something  I  could  not  perceive.  "  What 
an  exquisite  bit  ! "  he  burst  out ;  "  fifteenth 
centurv,  —  no,  —  ves,  it  is  !  " 

I  began  to  feel  puzzled,  not  to  say  alarmed. 
It  reminded  me  of  the  butcher  in  the  Arabian 
Nights,  whose  common  joints,  displayed  on  the 
shop-front,  took  to  a  startled  public  the  appear- 
ance of  dismembered  humanity.  This  man 
seemed  to  see  the  strangest  things  in  our  dull, 
*amiliar  surroundings. 

"Ah!"  he  broke  out  again,  as  we  jogged  on 
199 


The  Golden  Age 

between  hedgerows:  "and  that  field  now — . 
backed  by  the  downs — with  the  rain-cloud 
brooding  over  it, — that's  all  David  Cox  — 
every  bit  of  it ! " 

"That  field  belongs  to  Farmer  Larkin,"  1 
explained  politely,  for  of  course  he  could  not  be 
expected  to  know.  "I'll  take  you  over  to 
Farmer  Cox's  to-morrow,  if  he  's  a  friend  of 
yours ;  but  there  's  nothing  to  see  there." 

Edward,  who  was  hanging  sullenly  behind, 
made  a  face  at  me,  as  if  to  say,  "  What  sort  of 
lunatic  have  we  got  here  ? " 

"  It  has  the  true  pastoral  character,  this  country 
of  yours,"  went  on  our  enthusiast:  "with  just 
that  added  touch  in  cottage  and  farmstead,  relics 
of  a  bygone  art,  which  makes  our  English  land- 
scape so  divine,  so  unique!  " 

Really  this  grasshopper  was  becoming  a  bur- 
den. These  familiar  fields  and  farms,  of  which 
we  knew  every  blade  and  stick,  had  done  noth- 
ing that  1  knew  of  to  be  bespattered  with  adjectives 
in  this  way.  I  had  never  thought  of  them  as 
divine,  unique,  or  anything  else.  They  were  — 
well,  they  were  just  themselves,  and  there  was 
an  end  of  it.  Despairingly  I  jogged  Edward  in 
200 


The  Blue  Room 

the  ribs,  as  a  sign  to  start  rational  conversation, 
but  he  only  grinned  and  continued  obdurate. 

"  You  can  see  the  house  now,"  I  remarked, 
presently;  "and  that's  Selina,  chasing  the  don- 
key in  the  paddock,  —  or  is  it  the  donkey  chasing 
Selina  ?  I  can't  quite  make  out ;  but  it 's  them, 
anyhow." 

Needless  to  say,  he  exploded  with  a  full 
charge  of  adjectives.  "  Exquisite  !  "  he  rapped 
out ;  "  so  mellow  and  harmonious !  and  so 
entirely  in  keeping  ! "  (I  could  see  from  Edward's 
face  that  he  was  thinking  who  ought  to  be  in 
keeping.)  "  Such  possibilities  of  romance,  now, 
in  those  old  gables !  " 

"If  you  mean  the  garrets,"  I  said,  "there's  a 
lot  of  old  furniture  in  them ;  and  one  is  generally 
full  of  apples ;  and  the  bats  get  in  sometimes, 
under  the  eaves,  and  flop  about  till  we  go  up 
with  hair-brushes  and  things  and  drive  'em  out ; 
but  there  's  nothing  else  in  them  that  I  know 
of." 

"  Oh,  but  there  must  be  more  than  bats,"  he 
cried.  "  Don't  tell  me  there  are  no  ghosts.  I 
shall  be  deeply  disappointed  if  there  are  n't  any 
ghosts.  " 

20 1 


The  Golden  Age 

I  did  not  think  it  worth  while  to  reply,  feeling 
really  unequal  to  this  sort  of  conversation ;  besides, 
we  were  nearing  the  house,  when  my  task  would 
be  ended.  Aunt  Eliza  met  us  at  the  door,  and 
in  the  cross-fire  of  adjectives  that  ensued  —  both 
of  them  talking  at  once,  as  grown-up  folk  have 
a  habit  of  doing  —  we  two  slipped  round  to  the 
back  of  the  house,  and  speedily  put  several  solid 
acres  between  us  and  civilisation,  for  fear  or 
being  ordered  in  to  tea  in  the  drawing-room. 
By  the  time  we  returned,  our  new  importation 
had  gone  up  to  dress  for  dinner,  so  till  the  mor- 
row at  least  we  were  free  of  him. 

Meanwhile  the  March  wind,  after  dropping  a 
while  at  sundown,  had  been  steadily  increasing 
in  volume ;  and  although  I  fell  asleep  at  my 
usual  hour,  about  midnight  I  was  wakened  by 
the  stress  and  cry  of  it.  In  the  bright  moon- 
light, wind-swung  branches  tossed  and  swayed 
eerily  across  the  blinds ;  there  was  rumbling  in 
chimneys,  whistling  in  kevholes,  and  every- 
where a  clamour  and  a  call.  Sleep  was  out  of 
the  question,  and,  sitting  up  in  bed,  I  looked 
round.  Edward  sat  up  too.  "I  was  wondering 
when  you  were  going  to  wake,"  he  said.  "  It 's 
zoz 


The  Blue  Room 

no  good  trying  to  sleep  through  this.  I  vote 
we  get  up  and  do  something." 

"  I  'm  game,"  I  replied.  "  Let 's  play  at  being 
in  a  ship  at  sea"  (the  plaint  of  the  old  house 
under  the  buffeting  wind  suggested  this5  natur- 
ally) ;  "  and  we  can  be  wrecked  on  an  island, 
or  left  on  a  raft,  whichever  you  choose  ;  but  I 
like  an  island  best  myself,  because  there  's  more 
things  on  it." 

Edward  on  reflection  negatived  the  idea.  **  It 
would  make  too  much  noise,"  he  pointed  out. 
"  There  's  no  fun  playing  at  ships,  unless  you 
can  make  a  jollv  good  row." 

The  door  creaked,  and  a  small  figure  in  white 
slipped  cautiously  in.  "  Thought  I  heard  you 
talking,"  said  Charlotte.  "We  don't  like  it; 
we're  afraid  —  Selina  too.  She'll  be  here  in  a 
minute.  She 's  putting  on  her  new  dressing- 
gown  she  's  so  proud  of." 

His  arms  round  his  knees,  Edward  cogitated 
deeply  until  Selina  appeared,  barefooted,  and 
booking  slim  and  tall  in  the  new  dressing-gown. 
Then,  "  Look  here,"  he  exclaimed ;  "  now 
we  're  all  together,  I  vote  we  go  and  explore !  " 

"You're  always  wanting  to  explore,"  I  said. 
203 


The  Golden  Age 

"  What  on  earth  is  there  to  explore  for  in  this 
house  ? " 

"  Biscuits !  "  said  the  inspired  Edward. 

"  Hooray  !  Come  on  !  "  chimed  in  Harold, 
sitting  up  suddenly.  He  had  been  awake  all 
the  time,  but  had  been  shamming  asleep,  lest  he 
should  be  fagged  to  do  anything. 

It  was  indeed  a  fact,  as  Edward  had  remem- 
bered, that  our  thoughtless  elders  occasionally 
left  the  biscuits  out,  a  prize  for  the  night-walking 
adventurer  with  nerves  of  steel. 

Edward  tumbled  out  of  bed,  and  pulled  a 
baggy  old  pair  of  knickerbockers  over  his  bare 
shanks.  Then  he  girt  himself  with  a  belt,  into 
which  he  thrust,  on  the  one  side  a  large  wooden 
pistol,  on  the  other  an  old  single-stick ;  and 
finally  he  donned  a  big  slouch-hat  —  once  an 
uncle's  —  that  we  used  for  playing  Guy  Fawkcs 
and  Charles-the-Second-up-a-tree  in.  Whatever 
the  audience,  Edward,  if  possible,  always  dressed 
for  his  parts  with  care  and  conscientiousness; 
while  Harold  and  I,  true  Elizabethans,  cared  little 
about  the  mounting  of  the  piece,  so  long  as  the 
real  dramatic  heart  of  it  beat  sound. 

Our  commander  now  enjoined  on  us  a  silence 
204 


The  Blue  Room 

deep  as  the  grave,  reminding  us  that  Aunt  Eliza 
usually  slept  with  an  open  door,  past  which  we 
had  to  file. 

"  But  we  '11  take  the  short  cut  through  the 
Blue  Room,"  said  the  wary  Selina. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Edward,  approvingly.  '*  I 
forgot  about  that.  Now  then  !  You  lead  the 
way  ! " 

The  Blue  Room  had  in  prehistoric  times  been 
added  to  by  taking  in  a  superfluous  passage,  and 
so  not  only  had  the  advantage  of  two  doors,  but 
enabled  us  to  get  to  the  head  of  the  stairs  without 
passing  the  chamber  wherein  our  dragon-aunt  lay 
couched.  It  was  rarely  occupied,  except  when 
a  casual  uncle  came  down  for  the  night.  We 
entered  in  noiseless  file,  the  room  being  plunged 
in  darkness,  except  for  a  bright  strip  of  moonlight 
on  the  floor,  across  which  we  must  pass  for  our 
exit.  On  this  our  leading  lady  chose  to  pause, 
seizing  the  opportunity  to  study  the  hang  of  her 
new  dressing-gown.  Greatlv  satisfied  thereat, 
she  proceeded,  after  the  feminine  fashion,  to 
peacock  and  to  pose,  pacing  a  minuet  down  the 
moonlit  patch  with  an  imaginary  partner.  This 
was  too  much  for  Edward's  histrionic  instincts, 
205 


The  Golden  Age 

and  after  a  moment's  pause  he  drew  his  single- 
stick, and  with  flourishes  meet  for  the  occasion, 
strode  onto  the  stage.  A  struggle  ensued  on 
approved  lines,  at  the  end  of  which  Sclina  was 
stabbed  slowly  and  with  unction,  and  her  corpse 
borne  from  the  chamber  by  the  ruthless  cavalier. 
The  rest  of  us  rushed  after  in  a  clump,  with 
capers  and  gesticulations  of  delight ;  the  special 
charm  of  the  performance  lying  in  the  necessity 
for  its  being  carried  out  with  the  dumbest  of 
dumb  shows. 

Once  out  on  the  dark  landing,  the  noise  of  the 
storm  without  told  us  that  we  had  exaggerated 
the  necessity  for  silence ;  so,  grasping  the  tails 
of  each  other's  nightgowns,  even  as  Alpine 
climbers  rope  themselves  together  in  perilous 
places,  we  fared  stoutly  down  the  staircase-mo- 
raine, and  across  the  grim  glacier  of  the  hall, 
to  where  a  faint  glimmer  from  the  half-open  door 
of  the  drawing-room  beckoned  to  us  like  friendly 
hostel-lights.  Entering,  we  found  that  our  thrift- 
less seniors  had  left  the  sound  red  heart  of  a  fire, 
easily  coaxed  into  a  cheerful  blaze ;  and  biscuits 
—  a  plateful  —  smiled  at  us  in  an  encouraging 
sort  of  way,  together  with  the  halves  of  a  lemon, 
206 


The  Blue  Room 

alreadv  once  squeezed,  but  still  suckable.  The 
biscuits  were  righteously  shared,  the  lemon  seg- 
ments passed  from  mouth  to  mouth  ;  and  as  we 
squatted  round  the  fire,  its  genial  warmth  consol- 
ing our  unclad  limbs,  we  realised  that  so  many 
nocturnal  perils  had  not  been  braved  in  vain. 

"  It 's  a  funny  thing,"  said  Edward,  as  we 
chatted,  "  how  I  hate  this  room  in  the  daytime. 
It  always  means  having  your  face  washed,  and 
your  hair  brushed,  and  talking  silly  company  talk. 
But  to-night  it's  really  quite  jolly.  Looks  differ- 
ent, somehow." 

"  I  never  can  make  out,"  I  said,  "what  people 
come  here  to  tea  for.  They  can  have  their  own 
tea  at  home  if  they  like, — they're  not  poor 
people,  —  with  jam  and  things,  and  drink  out  of 
their  saucer,  and  suck  their  fingers  and  enjoy  them- 
selves ;  but  they  come  here  from  a  long  way  off, 
and  sit  up  straight  with  their  feet  off  the  bars  of 
their  chairs,  and  have  one  cup,  and  talk  the  same 
sort  of  stuff  every  time." 

Selina  sniffed  disdainfully.  "  You  don't  know 
anything  about  it,"  she  said.  "In  society  you 
have  to  call  on  each  other.  It 's  the  proper  thing 
to  do." 


The  Golden  Age 

"  Pooh  !  you  ,re  not  in  society,"  said  Edward, 
politely  ;  "  and,  what 's  more,  you  never  will 
be." 

"  Yes,  I  shall,  some  day,"  retorted  Selina ; 
"  but  I  shan't  ask  you  to  come  and  see  me,  so 
there  !  " 

"  Would  n't  come  if  you  did,"  growled 
Edward. 

"  Well,  you  won't  get  the  chance,"  rejoined 
our  sister,  claiming  her  right  of  the  last  word. 
There  was  no  heat  about  these  little  amenities, 
which  made  up  —  as  we  understood  it  —  the  art 
of  polite  conversation. 

"  I  don  't  like  society  people,"  put  in  Harold 
from  the  sofa,  where  he  was  sprawling  at  full 
length,  —  a  sight  the  davlight  hours  would  have 
blushed  to  witness.  "  There  were  some  of  'em 
here  this  afternoon,  when  you  two  had  gone  off 
to  the  station.  Oh,  and  I  found  a  dead  mouse 
on  the  lawn,  and  I  wanted  to  skin  it,  but  I  wasn't 
sure  I  knew  how,  by  mvself ;  and  they  came  out 
into  the  garden  and  patted  my  head,  —  I  wish 
people  would  n't  do  that,  —  and  one  of  'em  asked 
me  to  pick  her  a  flower.  Don't  know  why  she 
could  n't  pick  it  herself;  but  I  said,  'All  right,  J 
208 


The  Blue  Room 

will  if  you  '11  hold  my  mouse.'  But  she  screamed, 
and  threw  it  awav  ;  and  Augustus  (the  cat)  got 
it,  and  ran  away  with  it.  I  believe  it  was  really 
his  mouse  all  the  time,  'cos  he  'd  been  looking 
about  as  if  he  had  lost  something,  so  I  was  n't 
angrv  with  him  ;  but  what  did  she  want  to  throw 
awav  mv  mouse  for?" 

"  You  have  to  be  careful  with  mice,"  reflected 
Edward;  "they're  such  slippery  things.  Do 
you  remember  we  were  plaving  with  a  dead 
mouse  once  on  the  piano,  and  the  mouse  was 
Robinson  Crusoe,  and  the  piano  was  the  island, 
and  somehow  Crusoe  slipped  down  inside  the 
island,  into  its  works,  and  we  could  n't  get  him 
out,  though  we  tried  rakes  and  all  sorts  of  things, 
till  the  tuner  came.  And  that  was  n't  till  a 
week  after,  and  then  —  " 

Here  Charlotte,  who  had  been  nodding 
lemnly,  fell  over  into  the  fender;  and  we 
realised  that  the  wind  had  dropped  at  last,  and 
the  house  was  lapped  in  a  great  stillness.  Our 
vacant  beds  seemed  to  be  calling  to  us  imperi- 
ously ;  and  we  were  all  glad  when  Edward  gave 
the  signal  for  retreat.  At  the  top  of  the  stair- 
case Harold  unexpectedly  turned  mutinous,  in- 
209 


The  Golden  Age 

sisting  on  his  right  to  slide  down  the  banisters  in 
a  free  country.  Circumstances  did  not  allow  of 
argument ;  I  suggested  frog's-marching  instead, 
and  frog's-marched  he  accordingly  was,  the  pro- 
cession passing  solemnly  across  the  moonlit 
Blue  Room,  with  Harold  horizontal  and  limply 
submissive.  Snug  in  bed  at  last,  I  was  just  slip- 
ping off  into  slumber  when  I  heard  Edward 
explode,  with  chuckle  and  snort. 

"By  Jove!"  he  said;  "I  forgot  all  about  it. 
The  new  tutor  's  sleeping  in  the  Blue  Room  !  " 

"Lucky  he  didn't  wake  up  and  catch  us," 
I  grunted,  drowsily ;  and  both  of  us,  without 
another  thought  on  the  matter,  sank  into  well- 
earned  repose. 

Next  morning  we  came  down  to  breakfast 
braced  to  grapple  with  fresh  adversity,  but  were 
surprised  to  find  our  garrulous  friend  of  the  pre- 
vious day  —  he  was  late  in  making  his  appearance 
—  strangely  silent  and  (apparently)  preoccupied. 
Having  polished  off  our  porridge,  we  ran  out  to 
feed  the  rabbits,  explaining  to  them  that  a  beast 
of  a  tutor  would  prevent  their  enjoying  so  much 
of  our  society  as  formerly. 

On  returning  to  the  house  at  the  fated  hour 

2IO 


The  Blue  Room 

appointed  for  study,  we  were  thunderstruck  to 
see  the  station-cart  disappearing  down  the  drive, 
freighted  with  our  new  acquaintance.  Aunt 
Eliza  was  brutally  uncommunicative ;  but  she 
was  overheard  to  remark  casually  that  she  thought 
the  man  must  be  a  lunatic.  In  this  theory  we 
were  only  too  ready  to  concur,  dismissing  there- 
after the  whole  matter  from  our  minds. 

Some  weeks  later  it  happened  that  Uncle 
Thomas,  while  paying  us  a  flying  visit,  produced 
from  his  pocket  a  copy  of  the  latest  weekly, 
Psyche :  a  Journal  of  the  Unseen ;  and  pro- 
ceeded laborously  to  rid  himself  of  much  incom- 
prehensible humour,  apparently  at  our  expense. 
We  bore  it  patiently,  with  the  forced  grin 
demanded  by  convention,  anxious  to  get  at  the 
source  of  inspiration,  which  it  presently  appeared 
lav  in  a  paragraph  circumstantially  describing  our 
modest  and  humdrum  habitation.  "  Case  III.," 
it  began.  "The  following  particulars  were 
communicated  by  a  young  member  of  the  Society, 
of  undoubted  probity  and  earnestness,  and  are 
a  chronicle  of  actual  and  recent  experience." 
A  fairly  accurate  description  of  the  house  fol- 
lowed, with  details  that  were  unmistakable  j   bu{ 

21  I 


The  Golden  Age 

to  this  there  succeeded  a  flood  of  meaningless 
drivel  about  apparitions,  nightly  visitants,  and 
the  like,  writ  in  a  manner  betokening  a  disor- 
dered mind,  coupled  with  a  feeble  imagination. 
The  fellow  was  not  even  original.  All  the  old 
material  was  there,  —  the  storm  at  night,  the 
haunted  chamber,  the  white  lad}',  the  murder 
re-enacted,  and  so  on,  —  already  worn  threadbare 
in  many  a  Christmas  Number.  No  one  was 
able  to  make  head  or  tail  of  the  stuff,  or  of  its 
connexion  with  our  quiet  mansion ;  and  yet 
Edward,  who  had  always  suspected  the  man, 
persisted  in  maintaining  that  our  tutor  of  a  brief 
span  was,  somehow  or  other,  at  the  bottom  of 
it. 


212 


A  Falling  Out 


*n 


A   FALLING   OUT 

HAROLD  told  me  the  main  facts  of  this 
episode  some  time  later,  —  in  bits,  and 
with  reluctance.  It  was  not  a  recollection  he 
cared  to  talk  about.  The  crude  blank  misery  of 
a  moment  is  apt  to  leave  a  dull  bruise  which  is 
slow  to  depart,  if  it  ever  does  so  entirely  ;  and 
Harold  confesses  to  a  twinge  or  two,  still,  at  times, 
like  the  veteran  who  brings  home  a  bullet  inside 
him  from  martial  plains  over  sea. 

He  knew  he  was  a  brute  the  moment  he  had 
done  it  ;  Selina  had  not  meant  to  worry,  only  to 
comfort  and  assist.  But  his  soul  was  one  raw  sore 
within  him,  when  he  found  himself  shut  up  in 
the  schoolroom  after  hours,  merely  for  insisting 
that  7  times  7  amounted  to  47.  The  injustice 
of  it  seemed  so  flagrant.  Why  not  47  as  much 
as  49  ?  One  number  was  no  prettier  than  the 
other  to  look  at,  and  it  was  evidently  only  a  mat- 
ter of  arbitrary  taste  and  preference,  and,  anvhow, 
it  had  always  been  47  to  him,  and  would  be  to 
the  end  of  time.  So  when  Selina  came  in  out  of 
215 


The  Golden  Age 

the  sun,  leaving  the  Trappers  oi  the  Far  West 
behind  her,  and  putting  off  the  glory  of  being  an 
Apache  squaw  in  order  to  hear  him  his  tables  and 
win  his  release,  Harold  turned  on  her  venemously, 
rejected  her  kindly  overtures,  and  ever,  drove  his 
elbow  into  her  sympathetic  ribs,  in  his  determi- 
nation to  be  left  alone  in  the  glory  of  sulks.  The 
fit  passed  directly,  his  eyes  were  opened,  and  his 
soul  sat  in  'the  dust  as  he  sorrowfully  began  to 
cast  about  tor  some  atonement  heroic  enough  to 
salve  the  wrong. 

Of  course  poor  Selina  looked  for  no  sacrifice 
nor  heroics  whatever  :  she  did  n't  ever,  want  him 
to  say  he  was  sorry.  It  he  would  only  make  it 
up,  she  would  have  done  the  apologising  part 
herself.  But  that  was  not  a  boy's  way.  Some- 
thing solid.  Harold  felt,  was  due  from  him  ;  and 
until  that  was  achieved,  making-up  must  not  be 
thought  of,  in  order  that  the  final  effect  might  not 
be  spoilt.  Accordingly,  when  his  release  came, 
and  poor  Selina  hung  about,  trying  tc  catch  his 
eye,  Harold,  possessed  bv  the  demon  o*  a  distorted 
motive,  avoided  ner  steadily  —  though  he  was 
bleeding  inwardly  at  every  minute  of  delay  — 
and  came  to  me  instead.  Needless  to  say,  I  ap- 
216 


A  Falling;  Out 

proved  his  plan  highly  ;  it  was  so  much  more 
high-toned  than  just  going  and  making-up  tamely, 
which  anv  one  could  do;  and  a  girl  who  had  been 
jobbed  in  the  ribs  by  a  hostile  elbow  could  not 
be  expected  for  a  moment  to  overlook  it,  without 
the  liniment  of  an  offering  to  soothe  her  injured 
feelings. 

"  I  know  what  she  wants  most,"  said  Harold. 
"  She  wants  that  set  of  tea-things  in  the  toy-shop 
window,  with  the  red  and  blue  flowers  on  'em  ; 
she 's  wanted  it  for  months,  'cos  her  dolls  are  get- 
ting big  enough  to  have  real  afternoon  tea ;  and 
she  wants  it  so  badjy  that  she  won't  walk  that 
side  of  the  street  when  we  go  into  the  town.  But 
it  costs  five  shillings !  " 

Then  we  set  to  work  seriously,  and  devoted  the 
afternoon  to  a  realisation  of  assets  and  the  compo- 
sition of  a  Budget  that  might  have  been  dated  with- 
out shame  from  Whitehall.      The  result  worked 

out  as  follows :  — 

s.    d. 

By  one  uncle,  unspent  through  having  been 
lost  for  nearly  a  week  —  turned  up  at  last 
in  the  straw  of  the  dog-kennel  ....    2      6 

Carry  forward,  2      6 

2»7 


The  Golden  Age 

s.    d. 
Brought  forward,  2      6 

By  advance  from  me  on  security  of  next 
uncle,  and  failing  that,  to  be  called  in  at 
Christmas 10 

By  shaken  out  of  missionary-box  with  the 
help  of  a  knife-blade.  (They  were  our 
own  pennies  and  a  forced  levy)       ...04 

By  bet  due  from  Edward,  for  walking  across 
the  field  where  Farmer  Larkin's  bull  was, 
and  Edward  bet  him  twopence  hewould  n't 
—  called  in  with  difficulty 02 

By  advance  from  Martha,  on  no  security  at 

all,  only  you  mustn't  tell  your  aunt  ..10 

Total      5      o 
and  at  last  we  breathed  again. 

The  rest  promised  to  be  easy.  Selina  had  a 
tea-party  at  five  on  the  morrow,  with  the  chipped 
old  wooden  tea-things  that  had  served  her  succes- 
sive dolls  from  babyhood.  Harold  would  slip 
off*  directly  after  dinner,  going  alone,  so  as  not  to 
arouse  suspicion,  as  we  were  not  allowed  to  go  into 
the  town  by  ourselves.  It  was  nearly  two  miles 
to  our  small  metropolis,  but  there  would  be  plenty 
of  time  for  him  to  go  and  return,  even  laden  with 
the  olive-branch  neatly  packed  in  shavings ;  be- 
sides, he  might  meet  the  butcher,  who  was  his 

2x8 


A  Falling  Out 

friend  and  would  give  him  a  lift.  Then,  finally,  at 
five,  the  rapture  of  the  new  tea-service,  descended 
from  the  skies ;  and,  retribution  made,  making-up 
at  last,  without  loss  of  dignity.  With  the  event 
before  us,  we  thought  it  a  small  thing  that  twenty- 
four  hours  more  of  alienation  and  pretended  sulks 
must  be  kept  up  on  Harold's  part ;  but  Selina,  who 
naturally  knew  nothing  of  the  treat  in  store  for  her, 
moped  for  the  rest  of  the  evening,  and  took  a  very 
heavy  heart  to  bed. 

When  next  day  the  hour  for  action  arrived, 
Harold  evaded  Olympian  attention  with  an  easy 
modesty  born  of  long  practice,  and  made  off  for 
the  front  gate.  Selina,  who  had  been  keeping  her 
eye  upon  him,  thought  he  was  going  down  to  the 
pond  to  catch  frogs,  a  joy  they  had  planned  to 
share  together,  and  made  after  him  ;  but  Harold, 
though  he  heard  her  footsteps,  continued  sternly 
on  his  high  mission,  without  even  looking  back  ; 
and  Selina  was  left  to  wander  disconsolately  among 
flower-beds  that  had  lost  —  for  her  —  all  scent  and 
colour.  I  saw  it  all,  and  although  cold  reason 
approved  our  line  of  action,  instinct  told  me  we 
were  brutes. 

Harold  reached  the   town  —  so  he  recounted 
219 


The  Golden  Age 

afterwards  —  in  record  time,  having  run  most  of 
the  way  for  fear  the  tea-things,  which  had  reposed 
six  months  in  the  window,  should  be  snapped  up 
by  some  other  conscience-stricken  lacerator  of  a 
sister's  feelings ;  and  it  seemed  hardly  credible  to 
find  them  still  there,  and  their  owner  willing  to 
part  with  them  for  the  price  marked  on  the  ticket. 
He  paid  his  money  down  at  once,  that  there  should 
be  no  drawing  back  from  the  bargain  ;  and  then, 
as  the  things  had  to  be  taken  out  of  the  window 
and  packed,  and  the  afternoon  was  yet  young,  he 
thought  he  might  treat  himself  to  a  taste  of  urban 
joys  and  la  vie  de  Bokcme.  Shops  came  first,  of 
course,  and  he  flattened  his  nose  successively  against 
the  window  with  the  india-rubber  balls  in  it,  and 
the  clock-work  locomotive  ;  and  against  the  barber's 
window,  with  wigs  on  blocks,  reminding  him  of 
uncles,  and  shaving-cream  that  looked  so  good  to 
eat ;  and  the  grocer's  window,  displaying  more 
currants  than  the  whole  British  population  could 
possibly  consume  without  a  special  effort ;  and  the 
window  of  the  bank,  wherein  gold  was  thought 
so  little  of  that  it  was  dealt  about  in  shovels.  Next 
there  was  the  market-place,  with  all  its  clamorous 
joys ;  and  when  a  runaway  calf  came  down  the 
220 


A  Falling  Out 

street  like  a  cannon-ball,  Harold  felt  that  he  had 
not  lived  in  vain.  The  whole  place  was  so  brim- 
ful of  excitement  that  he  had  quite  forgotten  the 
why  and  the  wherefore  of  his  being  there,  when 
a  sight  of  the  church  clock  recalled  him  to  his 
better  self,  and  sent  him  flying  out  of  the  town, 
as  he  realised  he  had  only  just  time  enough  left  to 
get  back  in.  If  he  were  after  his  appointed  hour, 
he  would  not  only  miss  his  high  triumph,  but 
probably  would  be  detected  as  a  transgressor  of 
bounds,  —  a  crime  before  which  a  private  opinion 
on  multiplication  sank  to  nothingness.  So  he 
jogged  along  on  his  homeward  way,  thinking  of 
manv  things,  and  probably  talking  to  himself  a 
good  deal,  as  his  habit  was,  and  had  covered  nearly 
half  the  distance,  when  suddenly  —  a  deadly  sink- 
ing in  the  pit  of  his  stomach  —  a  paralysis  of  every 
limb  —  around  him  a  world  extinct  of  light  and 
music  —  a  black  sun  and  a  reeling  sky  —  he  had 
forgotten  the  tea-things ! 

It  was  useless,  it  was  hopeless,  all  was  over, 
and  nothing  could  now  be  done ;  nevertheless  he 
turned  and  ran  back  wildly,  blindly,  choking  with 
the  big  sobs  that  evoked  neither  pity  nor  comfort 
from  a  merciless  mocking  world  around  ;  a  stitch 

221 


The  Golden  Age 

in  his  side,  dust  in  his  eyes,  and  black  despair 
clutching  at  his  heart.  So  he  stumbled  on,  with 
leaden  legs  and  bursting  sides,  till  —  as  if  Fate  had 
not  yet  dealt  him  her  last  worst  buffet  —  on  turn- 
ing a  corner  in  the  road  he  almost  ran  under  the 
wheels  of  a  dog-cart,  in  which,  as  it  pulled  up, 
was  apparent  the  portly  form  of  Farmer  Larkin, 
the  arch-enemy,  whose  ducks  he  had  been  shying 
stones  at  that  very  morning  ! 

Had  Harold  been  in  his  right  and  unclouded 
senses,  he  would  have  vanished  through  the  hedge 
some  seconds  earlier,  rather  than  pain  the  farmer 
by  any  unpleasant  reminiscences  which  his  ap- 
pearance might  call  up  ;  but  as  things  were,  he 
could  only  stand  and  blubber  hopelessly,  caring, 
indeed,  little  now  what  further  ill  might  befall 
him.  The  farmer,  for  his  part,  surveyed  the 
desolate  figure  with  some  astonishment,  calling  out 
in  no  unfriendly  accents,  "  Why,  Master  Harold  ! 
whatever  be  the  matter?  Baint  runnin'  away, 
be  ee  ?  " 

Then  Harold,  with  the  unnatural  courage  born 
of  desperation,  flung  himself  on  the  step,  and  climb- 
ing into  the  cart,  fell  in  the  straw  at  the  bottom  of 
It,  sobbing  out  that  he  wanted  to  go  back,  go  back '. 

222 


A  Falling  Out 

The  situation  had  a  vagueness ;  but  the  fanner, 
a  man  ot  action  rather  than  words,  swung  his  horse 
round  smartly,  and  they  were  in  the  town  again 
by  the  time  Harold  had  recovered  himself  suffi- 
ciently to  furnish  some  details.  As  they  drove 
up  to  the  shop,  the  woman  was  waiting  at  the 
door  with  the  parcel  ;  and  hardly  a  minute  seemed 
to  have  elapsed  since  the  black  crisis,  ere  they  were 
bowling  along  swiftly  home,  the  precious  parcel 
hugged  in  a  close  embrace. 

And  now  the  farmer  came  out  in  quite  a  new 
and  unexpected  light.  Never  a  word  did  he  say 
of  broken  fences  and  hurdles,  of  trampled  crops 
and  harried  flocks  and  herds.  One  would  have 
thought  the  man  had  never  possessed  a  head  of  live 
stock  in  his  life.  Instead,  he  was  deeply  inter- 
ested in  the  whole  dolorous  quest  of  the  tea-things, 
and  sympathised  with  Harold  on  the  disputed  point 
in  mathematics  as  if  he  had  been  himself  at  the 
same  stage  of  education.  As  they  neared  home, 
Harold  found  himself,  to  his  surprise,  sitting  up 
and  chatting  to  his  new  friend  like  man  to  man  ; 
and  before  he  was  dropped  at  a  convenient  gap 
in  the  garden  hedge,  he  had  promised  that  when 
Selina  gave  her  first  public  tea-party,  little  Miss 
223 


The  Golden  Age 

Larkin  should  be  invited  to  come  and  bring  her 
whole  sawdust  family  along  with  her ;  and  the 
farmer  appeared  as  pleased  and  proud  as  if  he  had 
been  asked  to  a  garden-party  at  Marlborough 
House.  Really,  those  Olympians  have  certain 
good  points,  far  down  in  them.  I  shall  have  to 
leave  off  abusing  them  some  day. 

At  the  hour  of  five,  Selina,  having  spent  the 
afternoon  searching  for  Harold  in  all  his  accus- 
tomed haunts,  sat  down  disconsolately  to  tea  with 
her  dolls,  who  ungenerously  refused  to  wait  be- 
yond the  appointed  hour.  The  wooden  tea-things 
seemed  more  chipped  than  usual  ;  and  the  dolls 
themselves  had  more  of  wax  and  sawdust,  and 
less  of  human  colour  and  intelligence  about  them, 
than  she  ever  remembered  before.  It  was  then 
that  Harold  burst  in,  very  dustv,  his  stockings  at 
his  heels,  and  the  channels  ploughed  by  tears  still 
showing  on  his  grimy  cheeks ;  and  Selina  was  at 
last  permitted  to  know  that  he  had  been  thinking 
of  her  ever  since  his  ill-judged  exhibition  of  tem- 
per, and  that  his  sulks  had  not  been  the  genuine 
article,  nor  had  he  gone  frogging  by  himself.  It 
was  a  very  happy  hostess  who  dispensed  hospitality 
that  evening  to  a  glassy-eyed  stiff-kneed  circle; 
224 


A  Falling  Out 

and  many  a  dollish  gaucherie,  that  would  have 
been  severely  checked  on  ordinary  occasions,  was 
as  much  overlooked  as  if  it  had  been  a  birthday. 
But  Harold  and  I,  in  our  stupid  masculine  way, 
thought  all  her  happiness  sprang  from  possession 
of  the  long-coveted  tea-service. 


225 


"  Lusisti  Satis  " 


1TJ 


"LUSISTI    SATIS" 

AMONG  the  many  fatuous  ideas  that  pos- 
sessed the  Olympian  noddle,  this  one  was 
pre-eminent ;  that,  being  Olvmpians,  they  could 
talk  quite  freely  in  our  presence  on  subjects  of 
the  closest  import  to  us,  so  long  as  names,  dates, 
and  other  landmarks  were  ignored.  We  were 
supposed  to  be  denied  the  faculty  for  putting  two 
and  two  together  ;  and,  like  the  monkevs,  who 
very  sensibly  refrain  from  speech  lest  they  should 
be  set  to  earn  their  livings,  we  were  careful  to 
conceal  our  capabilities  for  a  simple  syllogism. 
Thus  we  were  rarely  taken  by  surprise,  and  so 
were  considered  by  our  disappointed  elders  to  be 
apathetic  and  to  lack  the  divine  capacity  for 
wonder. 

Now  the  daily  output  of  the  letter-bag,  with 

the  mysterious  di  that  ensued    thereon, 

had    speedily   informed    us    that    Uncle   Thomas 

was  intrusted  with  a  mission,  —  a  mission,  too, 

229 


The  Golden  Age 

affecting  ourselves.  Uncle  Thomas's  missions 
were  many  and  various ;  a  self-important  man, 
one  liking  the  business  while  protesting  that  he 
sank  under  the  burden,  he  was  the  missionary,  so 
to  speak,  of  our  remote  habitation.  The  match- 
ing a  ribbon,  the  running  down  to  the  stores,  the 
interviewing  a  cook,  —  these  and  similar  duties 
lent  constant  colour  and  variety  to  his  vacant  life 
in  London  and  helped  to  keep  down  his  figure. 
When  the  matter,  however,  had  in  our  presence 
to  be  referred  to  with  nods  and  pronouns,  with 
significant  hiatuses  and  interpolations  in  the  French 
tongue,  then  the  red  flag  was  flown,  the  storm- 
cone  hoisted,  and  by  a  studious  pretence  of  inat- 
tention we  were  not  long  in  plucking  out  the 
heart  of  the  mystery. 

To  clinch  our  conclusion,  we  descended  sud- 
denly and  together  on  Martha  ;  proceeding,  how- 
ever, not  by  simple  inquiry  as  to  facts,  —  that 
would  never  have  done,  —  but  by  informing  her 
that  the  air  was  full  of  school  and  that  we  knew 
all  about  it,  and  then  challenging  denial.  Martha 
was  a  trusty  soul,  but  a  bad  witness  for  the  de- 
fence, and  we  soon  had  it  all  out  of  her.  The 
word  had  gone  forth,  the  school  had  been  selected ; 
230 


cc  Lusisti  Satis  " 

the  necessary  sheets  were  hemming  even  now, 
and  Edward  was  the  designated  and  appointed 
victim. 

It  had  always  been  before  us  as  an  inevitable 
bourne,  this  strange  unknown  thing  called  school ; 
and  yet —  perhaps  I  should  say  consequently-  — 
we  had  never  seriously  set  ourselves  to  consider 
what  it  really  meant.  But  now  that  the  grim 
spectre  loomed  imminent,  stretching  lean  hands 
for  one  of  our  flock,  it  behoved  us  to  face  the 
situation,  to  take  soundings  in  this  uncharted  sea 
and  find  out  whither  we  were  drifting.  Unfor- 
tunately, the  data  in  our  possession  were  absolutely 
insufficient,  and  we  knew  not  whither  to  turn  for 
exact  information.  Uncle  Thomas  could  have 
told  us  all  about  it,  of  course;  he  had  been  there 
himself,  once,  in  the  dim  and  misty  past.  But  an 
unfortunate  conviction,  that  Nature  had  intended 
him  for  a  humourist,  tainted  all  his  evidence, 
making  it  wearisome  to  hear.  Again,  of 
such  among  our  contemporaries  as  we  had  ap- 
proached, the  trumpets  gave  forth  an  uncertain 
sound.  According  to  some,  it  meant  larks,  revels, 
emancipation,  and  a  foretaste  of  the  bliss  of  man- 
hood. According  to  others,  —  the  majority,  alas! 
231 


The  Golden  Age 

—  it  was  a  private  and  peculiar  Hades,  that  could 
give  the  original  institution  points  and  a  beating. 
When  Edward  was  observed  to  be  swaggering 
round  with  a  jaunty  air  and  his  chest  stuck  out,  I 
knew  that  he  was  contemplating  his  future  from 
the  one  point  of  view.  When,  on  the  contrary, 
he  was  subdued  and  unaggressive,  and  sought  the 
society  of  his  sisters,  I  recognised  that  the  other 
aspect  was  in  the  ascendant.  "  You  can  always 
run  away,  you  know,"  I  used  to  remark  consol- 
ingly on  these  latter  occasions ;  and  Edward  would 
brighten  up  wonderfully  at  the  suggestion,  while 
Charlotte  melted  into  tears  before  her  vision  of  a 
brother  with  blistered  feet  and  an  empty  belly, 
passing  nights  of  frost  'neath  the  lee  of  windy 
haystacks. 

It  was  to  Edward,  of  course,  that  the  situation 
was  chiefly  productive  of  anxiety  ;  and  yet  the 
ensuing  change  in  my  own  circumstances  and 
position  furnished  me  also  with  food  for  grave 
reflexion.  Hitherto  I  had  acted  mostly  to  orders. 
Even  when  I  had  devised  and  counselled  any 
particular  devilry,  it  had  been  carried  out  on 
Edward's  approbation,  and  — as  eldest  —  at  his 
special  risk.  Henceforward  I  began  to  be  anxious 
232 


c<  Lusisti  Satis  " 

of  the  bugbear  Responsibility,  and  to  realise  what 
a  soul-throttling  thing  it  is.  True,  my  new  po- 
sition would  have  its  compensations.  Edward 
had  been  masterful  exceedingly,  imperious,  per- 
haps a  little  narrow  ;  impassioned  for  hard  facts, 
and  with  scant  sympathy  for  make-believe.  I 
should  now  be  free  and  untrammelled  ;  in  the 
conception  and  carrying  out  of  a  scheme,  I  could 
accept  and  reject  to  better  artistic  purpose. 

It  would,  moreover,  be  needless  to  be  a  Radical 
any  more.  Radical  I  never  was,  really,  by  nature 
or  by  sympathy.  The  part  had  been  thrust  on 
me  one  day,  when  Edward  proposed  to  foist  the 
House  of  Lords  on  our  small  Republic.  The 
principles  of  the  thing  he  set  forth  learnedly  and 
well,  and  it  all  sounded  promising  enough,  till  he 
went  on  to  explain  that,  for  the  present  at  least,  he 
proposed  to  be  the  House  of  Lords  himself.  We 
others  were  to  be  the  Commons.  There  would 
be  promotions,  of  course,  he  added,  dependent  on 
service  and  on  fitness,  and  open  to  both  sexes  ; 
and  to  me  in  especial  he  held  out  hopes  of  speedy 
advancement.  But  in  its  initial  stages  the  thing 
would  n't  work  properly  unless  he  were  first  and 
only  Lord.  Then  I  put  my  foot  down  promptly, 
233 


The  Golden  Age 

and  said  it  was  all  rot,  and  I  did  n't  see  the  good 
of  any  House  of  Lords  at  all.  "  Then  you  must 
be  a  low  Radical ! "  said  Edward,  with  fine 
contempt.  The  inference  seemed  hardly  neces- 
sary, but  what  could  I  do  ?  I  accepted  the  situ- 
ation, and  said  firmly,  Yes,  I  was  a  low  Radical. 
In  this  monstrous  character  I  had  been  obliged 
to  masquerade  ever  since  ;  but  now  I  could  throw 
it  off,  and  look  the  world  in  the  face  again. 

And  yet,  did  this  and  other  gains  really  out- 
balance my  losses?  Henceforth  I  should,  it  was 
true,  be  leader  and  chief ;  but  I  should  also  be 
the  buffer  between  the  Olympians  and  my  little 
clan.  To  Edward  this  had  been  nothing ;  he 
had  withstood  the  impact  of  Olympus  without 
flinching,  like  Teneriffe  or  Atlas  unremoved. 
But  was  I  equal  to  the  task  ?  And  was  there 
not  rather  a  danger  that  for  the  sake  of  peace  and 
quietness  I  might  be  tempted  to  compromise,  com- 
pound, and  make  terms  ?  sinking  thus,  by  suc- 
cessive lapses,  into  the  Blameless  Prig  ?  I  don't 
mean,  of  course,  that  I  thought  out  my  thoughts 
to  the  exact  point  here  set  down.  In  those 
fortunate  days  of  old  one  was  free  from  the  hard 
necessity  of  transmuting  the  vague  idea  into  the 
234 


"  Lusisti  Satis  " 

mechanical  inadequate  medium  of  words.  But 
the  feeling  was  there,  that  I  might  not  possess  the 
qualities  of  character  for  so  delicate  a  position. 

The  unnatural  halo  round  Edward  got  more 
pronounced,  his  own  demeanour  more  responsible 
and  dignified,  with  the  arrival  of  his  new  clothes. 
When  his  trunk  and  play-box  were  sent  in,  the 
approaching  cleavage  between  our  brother,  who 
now  belonged  to  the  future,  and  ourselves,  still 
claimed  by  the  past,  was  accentuated  indeed.  His 
name  was  painted  on  each  of  them,  in  large  letters, 
and  after  their  arrival  their  owner  used  to  disap- 
pear mysteriously,  and  be  found  eventually  wan- 
dering round  his  luggage,  murmuring  to  himself, 

"Edward ,"  in  a  rapt,  remote  sort  of  way. 

It  was  a  weakness,  of  course,  and  pointed  to  a 
soft  spot  in  his  character;  but  those  who  can 
remember  the  sensation  of  first  seeing  their  names 
in  print  will  not  think  hardly  of  him. 

As  the  short  days  sped  by  and  the  grim  event 
cast  its  shadow  longer  and  longer  across  our  thresh- 
old, an  unnatural  politeness,  a  civility  scarce  canny, 
began  to  pervade  the  air.  In  those  latter  hours 
Edward  himself  was  frequently  heard  to  say 
■"  Please,"  and  also  "  Would  you  mind  fetchin' 

*35 


The  Golden  Age 

that  ball  ? "  while  Harold  and  I  wouia  some- 
times actually  find  ourselves  trying  to  anticipate  his 
wishes.  As  for  the  girls,  they  simply  grovelled, 
The  Olympians,  too,  in  their  uncouth  way,  by 
gift  of  carnal  delicacies  and  such-like  indulgence, 
seemed  anxious  to  demonstrate  that  they  had 
hitherto  misjudged  this  one  of  us.  Altogether 
the  situation  grew  strained  and  false,  and  I  think 
a  general  relief  was  felt  when  the  end  came. 

We  all  trooped  down  to  the  station,  of  course ; 
it  is  only  in  later  years  that  the  farce  of  "  seeing 
people  off"  is  seen  in  its  true  colours.  Edward 
was  the  life  and  soul  of  the  party  ;  and  if  his 
gaiety  struck  one  at  times  as  being  a  trifle  over- 
done, it  was  not  a  moment  to  be  critical.  As 
we  tramped  along,  I  promised  him  I  would  ask 
Farmer  Larkin  not  to  kill  any  more  pigs  till  he 
came  back  for  the  holidays,  and  he  said  he  would 
send  me  a  proper  catapult,  —  the  real  lethal  article, 
not  a  kid's  plaything.  Then  suddenly,  when 
we  were  about  half-way  down,  one  of  the  girls 
fell  a-snivelling. 

The  happy  few  who  dare  to  laugh  at  the  woes 
of  sea-sickness  will  perhaps  remember  how,  on 
occasion,  the  sudden  collapse  of  a  fellow-voyager 
236 


<c  Lusisti  Satis  " 

before  their  verv  eyes  has  caused  them  hastily  to 
revise  their  self-confidence  and  resolve  to  walk 
more  humbly  for  the  future.  Even  so  it  was 
with  Edward,  who  turned  his  head  aside,  feign- 
ing an  interest  in  the  landscape.  It  was  but  for 
a  moment;  then  he  recollected  the  hat  he  was 
wearing,  —  a  hard  bowler,  the  first  of  that  sort  he 
had  ever  owned.  He  took  it  off,  examined 
it,  and  felt  it  over.  Something  about  it  seemed 
to  give  him  strength,  and  he  was  a  man  once 
more. 

At  the  station,  Edward's  first  care  was  to  dis- 
pose his  boxes  on  the  platform  so  that  every  one 
might  see  the  labels  and  the  lettering  thereon.  One 
did  not  go  to  school  for  the  first  time  every  day  ! 
Then  he  read  both  sides  of  his  ticket  carefully  ; 
shifted  it  to  every  one  of  his  pockets  in  turn  ; 
and  finallv  fell  to  chinking  of  his  money,  to  keep 
his  courage  up.  We  were  all  dry  of  conversa- 
tion by  this  time,  and  could  only  stand  round  and 
stare  in  silence  at  the  victim  decked  for  the  altar. 
And,  as  I  looked  at  Edward,  in  new  clothes  of 
a  manly  cut,  with  a  hard  hat  upon  his  head,  a 
."ailwav  ticket  in  one  pocket  and  money  of  his 
own  in  the  other,  —  money  to  spend  as  he  liked 
237 


The  Golden  Age 

and  no  questions  asked  !  —  I  began  to  feel  dimly 
how  great  was  the  gulf  already  yawning  betwixt 
us.  Fortunately  I  was  not  old  enough  to  realise, 
further,  that  here  on  this  little  platform  the  old 
order  lay  at  its  last  gasp,  and  that  Edward  might 
come  back  to  us,  but  it  would  not  be  the  Ed- 
ward of  yore,  nor  could  things  ever  be  the  same 
again. 

When  the  train  steamed  up  at  last,  we  all 
boarded  it  impetuously  with  the  view  of  select- 
ing the  one  peerless  carriage  to  which  Edward 
might  be  intrusted  with  the  greatest  comfort  and 
honour ;  and  as  each  one  found  the  ideal  com- 
partment at  the  same  moment,  and  vociferously 
maintained  its  merits,  he  stood  some  chance  for 
a  time  of  being  left  behind.  A  porter  settled  the 
matter  by  heaving  him  through  the  nearest  door; 
and  as  the  train  moved  off,  Edward's  head  was 
thrust  out  of  the  window,  wearing  on  it  an  un- 
mistakable first-quality  grin  that  he  had  been  sav- 
ing up  somewhere  for  the  supreme  moment.  Very 
small  and  white  his  face  looked,  on  the  long  side 
of  the  retreating  train.  But  the  grin  was  visible, 
undeniable,  stoutly  maintained  ;  till  a  curve  swept 
him  from  our  sight,  and  he  was  borne  away  in 
238 


"  Lusisti  Satis  " 

the  dying  rumble,  out  of  our  placid  backwater, 
out  into  the  busy  world  of  rubs  and  knocks  and 
competition,  out  into  the  New  Life. 

When  a  crab  has  lost  a  leg,  his  gait  is  still 
more  awkward  than  his  wont,  till  Time  and  heal- 
ing Nature  make  him  totus  teres  atque  rotundus 
once  more.  We  straggled  back  from  the  station 
disjointedly  ;  Harold,  who  was  very  silent,  stick- 
ing close  to  me,  his  last  slender  prop,  while  the 
girls  in  front,  their  heads  together,  were  already 
reckoning  up  the  weeks  to  the  holidays.  Home 
at  last,  Harold  suggested  one  or  two  occupations 
of  a  spicy  and  contraband  flavour,  but  though  we 
did  our  manful  best  there  was  no  knocking  any 
interest  out  of  them.  Then  I  suggested  others, 
with  the  same  want  of  success.  Finally  we  found 
ourselves  sitting  silent  on  an  upturned  wheelbar- 
row, our  chins  on  our  fists,  staring  haggardly  into 
the  raw  new  conditions  of  our  changed  life,  the 
ruins  of  a  past  behind  our  backs. 

And  all  the  while  Selina  and  Charlotte  were 
busy  stuffing  Edward's  rabbits  with  unwonted 
forage,  bilious  and  green  ;  polishing  up  the  cage 
of  his  mice  till  the  occupants  raved  and  swore 
like  householders  in  spring-time;  and  collecting 
239 


The  Golden  Age 

materials  for  new  bows  and  arrows,  whips,  boats, 
guns,  and  four-in-hand  harness,  against  the  return 
of  Ulysses.  Little  did  they  dream  that  the  hero, 
once  back  from  Troy  and  all  its  onsets,  would 
scornfully  condemn  their  clumsy  but  laborious 
armoury  as  rot  and  humbug  and  only  fit  for  kids ! 
This,  with  many  another  like  awakening,  was 
mercifully  hidden  from  them.  Could  the  veil 
have  been  lifted,  and  the  girls  permitted  to  see 
Edward  as  he  would  appear  a  short  three  months 
hence,  ragged  of  attire  and  lawless  of  tongue,  a 
scorner  of  tradition  and  an  adept  in  strange  new 
physical  tortures,  one  who  would  in  the  same 
half-hour  dismember  a  doll  and  shatter  a  hallowed 
belief,  —  in  fine,  a  sort  of  swaggering  Captain,  fresh 
from  the  Spanish  Main,  —  could  they  have  had 
the  least  hint  of  this,  well,  then  perhaps — .  But 
which  of  us  is  of  mental  fibre  to  stand  the  test  of 
a  glimpse  into  futurity  ?  Let  us  onlv  hope  that, 
even  with  certain  disillusionment  ahead,  the  girls 
would  have  acted  precisely  as  they  did. 

And  perhaps  we  have  reason  to  be  very  grate- 
ful  that,  both    as  children   and   long  afterwards, 
we  are  never  allowed  to  guess  how  the  absorbing 
pursuit  of  the  moment  will  appear,  not  only  to 
240 


"  Lusisti  Satis  " 

others,  but  to  ourselves,  a  very  short  time  hence. 
So  we  pass,  with  a  gusto  and  a  heartiness  that  to 
an  onlooker  would  seem  almost  pathetic,  from 
one  droll  devotion  to  another  misshapen  passion ; 
and  who  shall  dare  to  play  Rhadamanthus,  to 
appraise  the  record,  and  to  decide  how  much  of 
it  is  solid  achievement,  and  how  much  the  merest 
child's  play  ? 


24! 


PRINTED  AT  THE  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 

AT     CAMBRIDGE     FOR     JOHN      LANE 

MDCCCCII 


BY  KENNETH  GRAHAME 

Pagan  Papers 

The  Nezu  York  Times  says  :  Since  "The  Golden  Age"  we 
have  not  read  any  book  which  is  more  fascinating  than  this 
same  author's  "  Pagan    Papers." 

The  New  York  Sun  says  :  Simple,  graceful,  and  humorous 
essays.  It  is  good  to  linger  for  a  while  with  a  writer  who  occu- 
pies himself  entertainingly  and  never   didactically. 

The  Outlook  says  :  Will  be  heartily  welcomed  by  all  those 
who  found  a  peculiar  pleasure  in  the  refined  feeling,  the  humor, 
the  love  of  nature,  and  the  suggestiveness  of  imagination  which 
were  so  charmingly  disclosed  in  "  The  Golden  Age." 

The  Golden  Age 

Mr.  Swinburne,  in  Daily  Chronicle,  says  :  The  art  of  writ- 
ing accurately  and  acceptably  about  children  is  among  the  rarest 
and  most  precious  of  arts.  ..."  The  Golden  Age  "  is  one  of 
the  few  books  which  are  wellnigh  too  praiseworthy  for  praise. 
.  .  .  The  fit  reader  —  and  the  "fit  "  readers  should  be  far  from 
"few"  —  finds  himself  a  child  again  while  reading  it.  Im- 
mortality should  be  the  reward  —  but  it  must  have  been  the 
birthright —  of  the  happy  genius  which  perceived  the  burglars 
vanishing  "  silently  with  horrid  implications."  .  .  .  Praise  would 
be  as  superfluous  as  analysis  would  be  impertinent. 

Mr.  Le  Gallienne,  in  Star,  says  :  I  can  think  of  no  truer 
praise  of  Mr.  Kenneth  Grahame's  "Golden  Age"  than  that 
it  is  worthy  of  being  called  "  A  Child's  Garden  —  of  Prose." 

Mr.  I  Zangwill,  in  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  says  :  No  more 
enjoyable  interpretation  of  the  child's  mind  has  been  accorded 
us  since  Stevenson's  "  Child's  Garden  of  Verses." 

There  is  a  beautifully  illustrated  edition  of  this  charming 
child-book,  with  drawings,  cover  design,  and  numerous  orna- 
ments by  Mr.  Maxfield  Parrish.  Those  who  want  to  make  a 
lasting  friend  of  this  library  masterpiece  will  be  glad  to  possess 
it  in  its  more   sumptuous  and  artistic  get-up. 

JOHN     LANE,    67    Fifth   Avenue,    New   York 


BY  KENNETH  GRAHAME 

Dream  Days 

The  Neiv  York  Times  says  :  In  this  province,  the  recon- 
structing ot  child  life,  Kenneth  Grahame  is  masterly  ;  in  fact,  we 
know  of  no  one  his  equal.  He  has  made  this  his  own  special 
feature. 

The  Outlook  says  :  Readers  of  The  Outlook  have  not  for- 
gotten Mr.  Kenneth  Grahame1  s  "  Golden  Age,"  a  volume  of 
studies  of  childhood  full  of  humor  and  sentiment  and  pervaded 
by  the  spontaneous  and  overflowing  vitality  of  boyhood  and 
girlhood.  That  book  prepared  the  way  for  "  Dream  Days,"  a 
volume  of  brief  papers,  eight  in  all,  of  kindred  quality,  insight, 
and  freshness. 

The  Evening  Sun  says  :  In  "  Dream  Days  "  Mr.  Kenneth 
Grahame  continues  the  delightful  adventures  of  the  delightful 
children  who  were  first  introduced  to  us  in  "  The  Golden  Age." 

The  Boston  Journal  says  :  It  is  generally  a  commonplace 
of  criticism  to  say  that  a  sequel  is  quite  independent  of  its  pred- 
ecessor, and  has  an  interest  of  its  own.  To  the  devoted  readers 
of  Mr.  Grahame's  books  such  a  recommendation  seems  a 
sacrilege.  Who  would  wish  to  read  "  Dream  Days"  without 
reading  the  "  Golden  Age  "  ? 

An  Illustrated  Edition  of  "  Dream  Days,"  to  be  a  com- 
panion volume  to  the  Illustrated  Edition  of  "  The  Golden 
Age,"  is  in  preparation  by  the  same  artist,  Mr.  Maxfield 
Parrish. 


The  Headswoman 

The  Philadelphia  Ledger  says  :  It  makes  a  happy  half-hour 
for  the  reader,  and  leaves  a  healthy  smile  for  many  times  that 
length  of  time. 

JOHN    LANE,   67  Fifth   Avenue,    New  York 


THE  INVENTION  OF 

FAIRYLAND 

BY 

KENNETH  GRAHAME 


THE  FAIRY  BOOKS  OF 
EVELYN  SHARP 


JOHN   LANE,    LONDON   AND    NEW    YORK 
MDCCCCI. 


The  INVENTION  OF  FAIRYLAND 

THERE  are  two  theories  in  the  matter.  A 
verv  long  time  ago  (according  to  the  elder 
one)  somebody  sat  down  and  invented  Fairy- 
land. Or  perhaps  it  was  a  joint  effort,  and  a 
committee  of  somebodies  sat  round  a  green-baize- 
covered  table.  Anyhow,  whether  dating  from 
a  plural  thev  or  a  singular  he,  the  result  seems 
to  have  been  exactly  right  and  unalterable  and 
satisfactory.  The  rules  were  framed  once  and 
for  all  ;  the  laws  were  codified  ;  the  popula- 
tion (with  a  certain  range  and  liberty)  fixed; 
and  the  manners  (within  a  large  margin  of 
license)  prescribed.  From  that  far-away  time 
till  now,  the  conditions  have  remained  immov- 
able, and  both  deliberate  attempts  at  subversion 
and  spirts  of  red  revolution  have  alike  fizzled 
out  and  faded  away,  powerless  against  the  splen- 
didly massive  conservatism  of  a  tradition  that  has 
its  suckers  on  the  unwritten  side  of  history. 

Perhaps  it  is  on  this  very    account  that  the 
later  pioneers  in  fairy  scholarship,  recognising  in 
this   very  fixity   something   more   than  natural, 
3 


THE    INVENTION 

have  advanced  the  daring  theory  that  as  it  cannot 
possibly  be  we  who  invented  Fairyland,  Fairy- 
land must  have  invented  us.  According  to  this 
thesis  of  theirs,  we  only  exist  by  favour  of  fairies. 
Having  pleased,  in  a  whimsical  moment  to  in- 
vent us  (Lord  only  knows  why),  they  have  us 
at  their  mercy,  and,  as  soon  as  they  are  tired  of 
thinking  about  us,  or  want  a  new  amusement  — 
puff!  we  shall  go  out,  and  that  story  will  be 
over.  Fortunately  fairies,  as  all  records  agree, 
are  loving,  irrational,  and  not  easily  wearied ; 
and,  after  all,  humanity  must  possess  many 
humorous  points  for  the  outsider  that  escape  the 
encaged  observer  within.  So  we  may,  perhaps, 
count  upon  another  month  or  so  yet  in  which  to 
read  a  fairy  book  or  two,  and  even  to  criticise 
them. 

Everybody  knows  how  a  fairy  story  should  be 
made  ;  but  the  inflexibility  of  the  conditions  has 
galled  the  withers  of  many  radicals,  who  have 
kicked  accordingly  and  essayed  to  fling  their 
burden  —  with  the  satisfying  result  of  failure, 
complete  and  dead.  The  up-to-date  fairy  story, 
with  its  jibes  and  sly  hits  at  the  topics  Tthe  day 
and  the  modern  attitude  of  thought,  raised  its 
revolutionary  head  for  a  very  brief  while  ;  Mr, 
4- 


O  F    F  AI  RYL  AND 

Dash,  if  we  recollect  aright,  did  some  neat  and 
pretty  things  in  that  way ;  so  did  Miss  Blank. 
Even  the  Water-Babies,  delightful  as  it  is,  has 
the  same  taint  —  the  taint,  that  is,  of  a  fairyism 
which  is  the  vehicle  only,  not  the  whole  aim 
and  end. 

Miss  Evelyn  Sharp  falls  into  no  such  error. 
The  conditions,  after  all,  are  not  hard,  once  one 
recognises  them  clearly  and  fully,  as  she  does. 
Of  these  the  principal,  undoubtedly,  are,  that 
you  should  have  the  right  accent  and  adopt  the 
right  point  of  view.  I  say  nothing  of  wit,  wis- 
dom, and  imagination.  No  one  who  has  not  all 
three  would  ever  dream  of  venturing  upon  a 
fairy  story  —  perhaps  I  may  go  a  step  farther 
and  say  that  no  one  who  has  all  three,  in  tull 
endowment,  would  ever  dream  of  writing  any- 
thing else.  At  any  rate,  Miss  Sharp  has  wit, 
wisdom,  and  imagination  for  her  initial  equip- 
ment, but  she  possesses  also  what  is  rarer  far  — 
the  accent  and  the  point  of  view  ;  with  entire 
recognition,  too,  of  the  limitations  these  impose. 
For  instance,  she  would  never  introduce  her 
bicvcle  —  supposing  her  to  possess  one  —  into 
this  old-fashioned  country.  She  knows  perfectly 
well   that  if  there  should  be  any  occasion  for 

s 


THE    INVENTION 

hurry  —  which  is  rarely  the  case  in  Fairyland 
—  naturally  you  take  a  rocking-horse. 

It  is  a  minor  test,  in  these  cases,  but  an  in- 
teresting one,  to  see  how  far  the  handling  of 
bird-arid-beast  life  is  right  and  natural  —  natural, 
that  is,  from  the  fairy  point  of  view,  for  fairy 
animals,  like  heraldic  animals,  have  their  own 
severe  laws,  quite  independent  of  zoological 
codes.  The  beasts  in  this  book  fully  answer  the 
test.  They  are  clever  and  sweet  and  tender, 
of  course,  or  they  would  not  be  here ;  but  they 
never  strain  after  "  scoring  "  or  being  "smart" 
by  their  modernity  —  a  practice  akin  to  gagging 
in  an  actor.  The  same  may  be  said  of  the  toys, 
who  behave  as  honest  toys  should,  and  not  at 
all  like  young  people  with  views.  There  is  one 
doll  in  particular,  of  whom  I  dare  to  say  that 
she  behaves  in  the  most  varied  and  trying  cir- 
cumstances exactly  as  a  gentle-doll  should  ;  and 
I  have  known  some  very  well-bred  ones.  But 
every  story  bubbles  with  wit,  tenderness,  and 
fancv,  and  even  their  humanity  (a  rare  achieve- 
ment) is  as  kissable  as  their  beasts  and  their 
toy-folk. 

"  And  there  they  built  a  very  small  house  in  a 
very  big  garden,  and  they  planted  it  with  rows  of 

6 


OF   FAIRYLAND 

chocolate-trees,  and  rows  of  acid-drop-bushes,  and 
lots  of  almond-rockeries  ;  and  the  fairies  came  and 
filled  it  with  flowers  from  Fairyland  that  had  no 
names  at  all,  but  were  the  most  beautiful  flowers 
that  any  one  has  ever  seen,  for  they  never  faded 
nor  died,  but  just  changed  into  something  else 
when  they  were  tired  of  being  the  same  flower.'" 

The  right  accent  seems  to  be  there,  as  in  the 
chime  of  hare-bells  at  the  hour  for  evening  step- 
dancing  on  mushroom-tops.  And  who  will 
dare  question  the  point  of  view  ? 

Mrs.  Percy  Dearmer's  delightful  illustrations 
might  well  serve  as  pegs  from  which  to  dangle 
much  highly  coloured  talk  on  modern  tendencies 
of  art,  and  so  on.  But  I  prefer  to  go  straight 
to  my  individual  impression,  and  to  thank  her 
for  summoning  up  so  dear  and  so  early  a  recol- 
lection as  that  of  my  very  first  paint-box. 
Surely  the  '«  manner"  of  this  artist  was  my  own 
"early  manner  "  — those  broad  simple  spaces, 
that  large  handling  of  primary  colours  ?  My 
tongue  begins  to  protrude  again  as  I  look  at  them 
(this  was  a  part  of  the  early  manner).  Again 
the  obstinate  lid  of  that  paint-box  jams  and  slides 
a  little,  and  jams  again  in  its  old  way  —  again 
the  crimson  lake  sticks  to  the  Prussian  blue,  and 
7 


FAIRYLAND 

the  gamboge  persists  in  "  rucking  up  "  when  the 
lid  has  to  be  pushed  back  —  and  the  potent  old 
smell  asserts  itself  once  more.  Mrs.  Dearmer 
ought  to  be  very  happy  painting  such  pictures, 
and  one  wonders  she  ever  does  anything  else. 
But,  perhaps,  she  never  does  do  anything  else. 

Kenneth  Grahame,  in  The  Academy. 


FAIRY  BOOKS   BY   EVELYN    SHARP 

Wymps $1-5° 

All  the  Way  to  Fairyland        1.50 
The  Other  Side  of  the  Sun         1.50 

JOHN  LANE 
LONDON  and  NEW  YORK. 


THE  FABRIC  OF 

THE  FAIRY  TALE 

BY 

KENNETH  GRAHAME 


REDUCED  ILLUSTRATION 
FROM  "PIERRETTE,"  BY 
H.  DE  VERE  STACPOOLE 


PIEfeECTE 


The  FABRIC  OF  THE  FAIRY  TALE 

WHEN  the  Ark  took  the  ground  at  last  with 
a  bump,  shivered  throughout  her  length, 
careened  a  trifle,  and  saw  the  gurgling  floods 
drop  inch  by  inch  down  her  pitchy  sides,  all  her 
leg-cramped,  wing-cramped,  neck-and-trunk- 
cramped  crew,  forgetting  the  sulks,  cliques,  and 
quarrels  inevitable  to  the  voyager,  burst  hila- 
riously forth  into  the  sunlight,  and  with  many  a 
squawk,  squeal,  trumpet,  and  snort  went  gaily 
galumphing  about  their  respective  businesses. 
Alone  among  these  forgetful  ones,  the  kindly 
domestic  pigeons,  gratefully  remembering  —  with 
their  cousin  the  dove — the  manv  home  com- 
forts of  the  snug  old  ship,  resolved  upon  some 
memorial  of  the  excursion,  whenever  thev  should 
have  the  necessary  time  and  money.  So  as  soon 
as  things  were  a  bit  settled  and  running  in  the 
old  grooves  once  again,  they  set  to  work  and 
erected  a  stout  pole  ;  and  on  the  top  of  that  they 
set  up  their  first  house  —  a  miniature  Ark,  ex 
voto,  with  a  sliding  roof  painted  wavy  red,  two 
straight  rows  of  black  windows,  a  flat  promenade 
all  round  for  fine  weather,  and  at  each  of  the 
1 1 


THE    FABRIC    OF 

four  corners  a  little  round  tree,  of  the  evergreen 
tribe,  seeing  that  their  foliage  was  shavings 
painted  green.  There  had  always  been  lots  of 
shavings  in  odd  corners  of  the  Ark,  and,  of 
course,  plenty  of  green  paint,  as  befitted  a  well- 
found  ship  ;  so  in  the  tedious  days  when  the 
world  was  a  flat  watery  waste,  they  had  got  in 
the  habit  of  making  these  trees,  just  for  fun. 

Of  course,  as  time  went  on  architect-pigeons 
worked  out  what  they  called  improvements  in 
design.  To  mitigate  the  force  of  tempests, 
pigeon-arks  were  built  shorter  and  shorter,  and 
broader  and  broader,  still  keeping,  however,  their 
roof,  windows,  and  promenade.  At  last  a  genius- 
pigeon  arose  who  boldly  demolished  corners 
altogether,  and  the  Ark  became  the  dove-cote 
of  the  present  day.  But  this  is  the  dove-cote's 
architectural  history,  and  the  history,  too,  of  the 
first  play-ark,  as  distinguished  from  the  original 
bluff-bowed  old  coaster. 

To  return,  however,  to  the  first  memorial 
pigeon-ark.  This  was  stoutly  built,  with  a 
broad  prom.enade,  and  was  much  admired  by  the 
other  animals,  who  often  wished  they  had  had 
the  wit  to  think  of  such  a  memento  themselves. 
A  ladder  led   up   to  it,  and   Shem,  Ham,  and 

12 


THE    FAIRY    TALE 

Japheth  were  not  too  proud  to  stroll  up  of  a  cool 
evening  and  sit  about,  dangling  their  legs  over 
the  edge  and  remarking  how  homelike  it  all  felt. 
Some  of  the  animals,  too,  would  drop  in  pro- 
miscuous, when  business  was  slack  —  stout, 
bow-legged,  skipper-hippopotamuses,  pensive 
giraffe-captains  of  the  foretop,  or  maybe  a  mon- 
key-cabin-boy or  two.  And  by  degrees  many 
a  knotty  point  came  to  be  talked  over  and  settled 
up  there  ;  for  there  were  plenty  of  threads  to  be 
picked  up  and  old  traditions  set  on  their  legs 
again,  in  the  new  order  of  things. 

They  settled  the  size  and  colour  of  the  spots 
on  wooden  horses  ;  they  laid  down  the  lines  of 
the  first  (and  last)  box  of  bricks.  They  de- 
creed that  cotton-wool  smoke  should  for  ever 
puff  cloudily  out  of  wooden  locomotives  ;  they 
inserted  wonderful  red  and  blue  threads  inside 
glass  marbles.  They  decided  on  the  particular 
purple  tint  always  used  for  the  rings  round  nine- 
pins ;  and  they  eternally  fixed  the  plastic  curves 
of  the  monkey  that  restlessly  jerks  on  a  yellow 
stick.  They  settled — as  who  should  know 
better?  —  how  pirates  were  to  be  played;  and 
the  rules  for  hunting  down  the  various  wild 
beasts  of  forest  and  plain  were  easy  to  compile 
'3 


THE    FABRIC    OF 

when  the  actual  animals  themselves  were  at  hand 
with  advice  and  assistance.  They  fixed  the 
scrunching-point  of  bullseyes  and  barley  sugar, 
and  composed  the  mottoes  to  be  printed  on 
peppermints.  And  lastly,  they  resolved  them- 
selves into  a  special  committee  for  drafting  a  code 
and  a  scheme  and  a  syllabus  for  the  eternal  lairy 
tale,  that  should  hold  till  the  sun  was  shrunken 
and  dim,  and  it  was  too  cold  to  do  anything  but 
build  big  fires  and  sit  round  them  and  tell  stories. 
A  pinch  of  fairy  godmother,  both  the  invited 
and  uninvited  kinds  —  a  youngest  prince  or 
three,  a  youngest  princess  of  nine  —  dragons  for 
the  driving,  caves  for  the  password,  bullion  for 
the  beating  heart  and  wary  sword.  Riddles  to 
guess,  with  a  castle  for  prize  money  ;  forests  to 
pierce,  with  a  princess  worth  winning  deep  in 
the  murkv  heart  of  them.  Relations  and  guar- 
dians, gnomes  and  sprites,  on  the  hostile  or  tricksy 
side ;  on  the  other,  fairies  generallv,  animals 
always,  friendly  and  helpful.  Ogres  in  sugar- 
plum-castles, essential  rings  in  eagle's  nests  —  of 
these  and  many  another  thread  the  web  was 
woven,  and  the  texture  has  never  been  ques- 
tioned or  discussed  since  the  date  of  the  original 
committee. 

H 


THE    FAIRY    TALE 

Do  writer-people  still  weave  them  as  of  old, 
these  tapestries  ?  Or  have  all  possible  combina- 
tions of  the  hues  and  the  threads  in  the  old  loom 
become  exhausted  ?  Well,  it  is  not  often  that  one 
meets  a  bit  of  the  real  antique  work  nowadays. 

The  bell-note  —  the  heather  fragrance  —  the 
particular  fairy  quality,  though  it  asserts  itself  at 
times  is  not  everywhere  diffused.  I  find  it 
strongly,  however,  in  some  little  stories  under 
the  collective  title  of  "  Pierrette,"  by  Mr.  H. 
de  Vere  Stacpoole,  which  are  not  really  fairy 
stories  at  all  in  the  ordinarv  sense,  but  rather  the 
sort  of  stories  that  fairies  tell  each  other — about 
mortals,  of  course  —  after  tea,  when  the  fairy 
evenings  are  drawing  in  ;  which  is  a  different 
thing  —  perhaps  a  rarer. 

Kenneth   Grahame,  in  The  Daih   Mail. 


BY  HENRY  DE  VERE  STACPOOLE 
Pierrette $1-50 

JOHN  LANE 
LONDON   and   NEW  YORK 


Quarto,  in  decorated  cover,  price  $1.50 
A  HUNDRED  FABLES  OF  ^ESOP 
with  101  full-page  illustrations  by 
PERCY  J.  BILLINGHURST 
&  a  fifteen-page  introduction  includ- 
ing two  new  &  original  fables  by 
KENNETH   GRAHAME 


9 


And  uniform  with  the  above,  price  $1.50 

A  HUNDRED  FABLES  OF  LA  FONTAINE 

with  1 01  full-page  illustrations  by 

PERCY    J.    BILLINGHURST 

In    La    Fontaine'"*    Fables,    Mr.    Billinghurst's    delightful 
animals  pose  and  strut  and   swagger  in   the  same  powerful 
and  moral-mending  manner  that  they  did  in  his  /Esop. 
Kenneth   Grahame  in  Daily  Mail 


9 


Also,  crown  8vo,  price  $1.50 
GULLIVER'S  TRAVELS 

with  over  100   illustrations  by 
HERBERT     COLE 

A  thoroughly  well  turned  out  edition  of  a  rare  and  racy 
classic,  which  nursery-land  long  ago,  despite  all  protests, 
took  to  its  own  bosom. 

Kenneth   Grahame  in  Daily  Mail 


JOHN   LANE 

PUBLISHER 

LONDON  AND  NEW  YORK 


